


you could be my cure

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Riding, a love of coffee shops too, a tiny bit of angst, and a bunch of happy moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The thing is, Zayn is almost overwhelmingly certain that he’s only ever fallen in love </i>four times<i> but he thinks this is the only one that actually counts </i></p><p>(<i>alternately:</i> Nothing about Zayn is traditional, especially not the way he falls in love with Liam, or everything before and after that)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you could be my cure

**Author's Note:**

> This whole idea stemmed from this [prompt](http://zaynteam.tumblr.com/post/89367613982/emojipayne-i-really-want-a-fic-where-liam-and) by Fatima and another prompt I got about Zayn proposing to Liam in a cute way. It's ridiculous fluff and domestic stuff and happy/sad moments. But mostly, it's just about Zayn and Liam.
> 
> Big love and incredible gratitude to [Jarka](http://whispersbrave.tumblr.com) and [Rhama](http://zaynismuslim.tumblr.com) for helping with a bunch of details and for listening to me whine about wanting to get things _perfect_. Hope I did you ladies proud!
> 
> There's some fine details in here about religion/culture that I hope I represented accurately enough. I strayed a bit from my style of timeframes just because I wanted something different and to capture small parts in their lives. Forgive me if it sucks.
> 
> Title taken from "Cure" by Barcelona xx

 

 

 

The thing is, Zayn is almost overwhelmingly certain that he’s only ever fallen in love _four times_ but he thinks this is the only one that actually counts –

Because the first time he fell in love, he was seven years old and his mum had to explain to him that Wonder Woman will never feel the same for him as he did for her.

And he was twelve when Irene kissed him behind the schoolyard before holding hands with that sporty lad Sam a week later but Danny swears it’s because Zayn was too shy then. Zayn was sort of in love with Danny back then, also, but that doesn’t really count either because he hadn’t quite figured out the difference between kissing a mate for _‘practice’_ and kissing a mate because he _wanted_ to.

And he was sixteen and broody when Talia, with her raven hair and big eyes and shiny pink lips, snogged him in the middle of a dusty old basement, halfway through Truth or Dare at some nameless kid’s party. He wrote her poetry and she broke his heart on a Wednesday, six months later, with a _‘Dear Zayn’_ letter –

Because she thought he was things like _‘reserved,’_ _‘painfully shy,’_ and _‘weird.’_

But he is almost positive this is the only time that _counts_ and he thinks it all starts like this –

 

//

 

**October 2012**

 

Zayn _hates_ blind dates.

He hates all forms of dates, period, but blind dates are the worst.

He thinks they’re pretentious. They’re just a prerequisite to two things – shagging or a relationship, two of which he’s learned he can manage without trivial things like a meet-and-greet over coffee or nervous chatter in a posh restaurant.  It’s a waste of time, really.

And he’s quite certain he’s absolute shit at them, anyways.

Zayn thinks, partially, it’s the reason the girl – _Lana_?  Maybe _Daisy_? – sitting across from him in this tiny coffee shop just off the London Met campus has looked disinterested for the past thirty minutes now.

She’s pretty – of course she is because every girl his mum sets him up with always is, even if she won’t admit it – with soft olive skin, a colorful knit scarf tangled around her neck, a top that draws attention to her chest and leggings. Her dark hair is messily done under one of those inconsequential berets, an ugly canary color that draws attention away from her eyes – smudged with heavy eyeliner like she’s trying too hard – and she keeps shooting him these dazed smiles like she’s half-interested in all of the things he loves –

Even though she rolls her eyes when he talks about comic books or how much he enjoyed _the Avengers_.

Even though she taps her fingers on the table when he chats about his undergraduate program – English Literature because he’s _still_ addicted to tragedies and poetry, thanks Talia – and sighs a put upon giggle at all of his jokes.

She’s nothing like he _expects_ – or like the girl his mum chatted about three days ago before coyly offering Zayn her number, her interests, and her zodiac sign – with her impatient looks when the barista forgets to add _three drops of cream_ to her coffee rather than two.  Or the way she stares off into oblivion when Zayn discusses his favorite poets.

Or that little half-smirk she gives him when she talks about her favorite subjects from school – like’s he’s incapable of following along.

And _Katarina_ – and he only remembers because it’s inked to the inside of her right wrist like a reminder, another thing he really doesn’t like about her – only smiles genuinely at him when he asks about _her_.

He listens intently while she talks about her studies, about her childhood, about ex-boyfriends and old hook-ups because he’s always thought of himself as a proper gentleman. The kind of lad you’d want to take home to your parents.  A stand-up bloke.

“I just wish I had more time to date but my studies keep me pre-occupied,” she huffs like it’s a burden, biting at her bottom lip in this flirtatious manner that makes Zayn frown. “You’re quite beautiful, you know.  Much better looking than your mum described.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

He thinks she’s quite _boring_ , but he doesn’t admit that aloud.

“You’re nice too,” he says instead, taking a long swallow of his coffee to burn back all of the other words he wants to mumble.

She smirks, lighthearted and insincere, before knocking her chunky bangs away from her eyes – reason number _eleven_ he doesn’t like her.

There’s cheesy acoustic music playing through the coffee shop, a distraction that fills the gaps of silence between them. It’s just an assortment of John Mayer and a bunch of stuff he’s never heard but he tunes his ears to the lyrics rather than to the way she starts into another conversation about her lectures and courses.

He smiles around the rim of his cup, tapping his boot along to the _‘and there will come a time when you need your friends tonight and there will come a time when you will need someone time’_ until he tires of the rhythm.

Zayn is grateful when the barista comes back, looking flustered and nervous when Katarina glares at him, clumsily dropping the bill on the table and thanking them before scurrying off.

“This was loads of fun,” she lies, carefully skidding the bill across the table top in his direction. She smiles sweetly – as best she can, he supposes – while fluttering her eyelashes at him.  “I swear, when classes aren’t so busy, we should do this again.  I’ll call you.”

It feels like an empty promise, something he likes to avoid. He wants to tell her none of it is necessary but she’s already out of her chair, leaning over him to press her candy pink gloss-stained lips to his cheek.  The press is sticky and her perfume is heavy like cheap grocery store flowers.

“Try not to miss me in-between,” she winks, tossing her hair over her shoulder and he bites roughly along his bottom lip to prevent the _‘I won’t, trust me’_ from sliding off his tongue as she rushes out the door.

Zayn sighs, slumping down in his chair. He tugs his phone out of his pocket, queuing his mum up immediately because he feels like he’s recovering from a fucking hurricane.

 _Hurricane Katarina_ , he laughs to himself, dropping his shoulders while thumbing out a quick text – _thanks mum I think she’s the 1 xx_ – before dropping a few quid on the table for the barista and finishing his coffee.

There’s a pitchy giggle just to the side of his table and Zayn startles out a daydream about catching a kip before his next class starts up to find a boy with a buzz cut, broad shoulders, and strong hands –

Zayn swears those hands were meant to mold dirt or bend steel or set goosebumps along flesh

– holding a used copy of _the Philosopher’s Stone_ and a cup of steaming coffee.  He’s a bit distracting with his buzz cut, strong jaw, wrinkled flannel with the buttons half-done, a soft twist to his pink lips and huge brown eyes almost like dark hickory.  He’s got tan skin and hidden muscles and Zayn loses all of his thoughts staring at that spot of caramel on his neck.

He smiles at Zayn with this abashed stain of pink to his cheeks, sipping loudly at his coffee.

“I reckon she won’t be calling you back,” he says and his voice is so enthralling with its grit, this earthy gentleness, the foreign tone of his accent.

Zayn grins up at the crinkles around this boy’s eyes, the little twitch of his lips like he’s unable to contain his smile. It wrecks Zayn so easily he can’t comprehend.

“I reckon,” he repeats, biting along the edge of his lip. “S’okay.  My mum might be disappointed since she set us up on this blind date.”

The boy gives Zayn this hesitant look, this unexpected grin with smudges of blush all over his cheeks. He takes another slow slurp of his coffee with bright eyes, humming softly.  There’s Vampire Weekend in the background and Zayn feels like he’s in a trance.

_Where the hell did this boy come from?_

“I know what s’like,” he says in a low voice with a crooked grin. “My mum does it all of the time.  Swears she knows what’s better for me than I know myself.  Took my last blind date to see _the Avengers_.  She wasn’t a fan.”

Something light and unpredictable fills Zayn’s lungs at that and he quickly hides his smile behind his empty coffee cup because – _come the fuck on Malik_.

He’s never been that easy or interested. Not at first but this boy with the big brown eyes, the pink lips, this nervous crooked grin keeps him fascinated.

Zayn sits up a little in his chair, casually readjusts himself under the table because he’s half-hard at how fit this boy is, and he doesn’t know why he kicks out the empty chair opposite of him. He jerks his head towards it like an invitation.  The other boy, who’s biting anxiously at his bottom lip now, falters for a second too long and Zayn forgets to breathe until he finally stumbles into the chair across from Zayn.

“I’m Liam, just in case you were,” he pauses with shy eyes, his face going hot when Zayn stares too long. “Just in case you were wondering.”

 _I was wondering how you like your tea in the morning and if you shag after just meeting someone_ , Zayn thinks but he curls all of the words under his tongue to nod at Liam.

“Zayn,” he replies with a small nod.

Liam mouths out his name under his breath and Zayn sort of likes the way it sounds sliding against Liam’s accent. He sort of likes the way Liam looks mortified when he realizes Zayn’s watching.

His cheeks burn and they sit in this casual silence that, normally, Zayn _hates_ but he finds it comforting here.

He can’t focus, not that he’s trying to, with the scent of Liam’s coffee filling his senses. There’s a sharp aroma of pumpkin spice but it’s the layers underneath Zayn likes – the spicy bean, the swirl of cream, the caffeine like nicotine, the kind that stains your clothes in this heady scent for hours.

They don’t talk about anything important – like family, career goals, past relationships – but they laugh over their favorite Marvel films and whisper about which Batman film is the best – they argue over _the Dark Knight_ versus _the Dark Knight Rises_ and he thinks Liam wins that discussion because _Selina Kyle, dude, c’mon_ – and he barely flinches when Liam talks about his fondest memories.

“I like this,” Liam says, reaching over the table to press calloused fingers over the _‘ZAP!’_ tattoo inked over Zayn’s forearm in red and yellow.  His thumb catches along the veins while his skin turns pink with shame.  “It looks good on you.”

He fumbles his trembling hand back when Zayn arches an eyebrow at him. It’s impractical, the way this boy laughs like he’s got wind in his lungs or the silly, lopsided smirk on his loose lips or the noise he creates when he slurps his coffee but Zayn’s intrigued by all of it –

Including but not limited to the scratches of ink he can see peeking from under Liam’s sleeves and the way his eyes crinkle and that stupid birthmark splashed on his neck.

“Shit. Sorry,” Liam mumbles, nearly burning his tongue on the fresh cup of coffee the barista dropped off.  “That sounds horrible, right?  Like a bad chat up line.”

Zayn smirks into his coffee, brushing his fingers over his over-styled quiff, across the strip of blonde in his dark hair – another tragic mistake, _bad form_ from a girl he swore he was falling for over summer break – before shrugging casually.

“Sort of,” he laughs while Liam cringes. He leans over the table a little, teeth catching his bottom lip before it quirks into an embarrassingly fond smile.  “But I’m not opposed to it, if you are, I mean.  Like if you’re trying.  To chat me up, y’know.”

They blink at each other for a moment and Zayn thinks _this is a start_ –

That doesn’t sound right but it turns like a clock’s gears in his head, over and over until something chimes.

But their knuckles brush in the middle of the table when they both reach for their coffees. They don’t stir away, not like Zayn half-expects, and he enjoys the warmth from something other than his coffee cup.

They hum along in this neat little harmony to the Bruno Mars rattling through the shop, wasting away the time with subtle smiles and casual discussions about school.

“I’ve never read the series,” Liam admits, tapping the spine of his book at the edge of the table, “but my flatmate Niall swears by it. He’s addicted to ‘em.”

Zayn nods along, grinning behind his cup. His throat feels raw from his heart trying to climb up it but he doesn’t waver when Liam’s foot accidentally bumps his under the table.  He fucking presses back while the tight skin around his cheeks catches fire.

“He likes to imagine he’s Malfoy?” Liam wonders and Zayn nods slowly with a crooked smirk. “He tries to chat up my other mate, Harry from back home, but it’s a disaster.  Quite funny, though.  He keeps trying.”

“How’s it going?” Zayn wonders, scraping the inside of Liam’s Converse with the toe of his boot.

“Dreadful,” Liam replies and they both let out this synchronized laugh that ends with a hiccup from the lack of breath.

Liam bites down on the edge of his tongue and Zayn wants to replace his teeth with his own lips, he wants to know if there’s coffee still on that tongue and the noises Liam makes when someone kisses him filthily.

It’s disturbing and stirs his cock in the most painful way in his jeans but he keeps a casual face to not give it all away.

“Your eyes,” Liam starts, nervously, blinking away the brightness to stare at Zayn. “They’re quite beautiful.  Almost like mint chocolate ice cream.”

He’s got this nervous stutter, this horrible shade to his cheeks when Zayn looks at him properly but Zayn finds it endearing. He nudges his foot to Liam’s again to stop his twitching, grinning when Liam looks up through his eyelashes.

“That sounds so – “

“Nice,” Zayn interrupts, shrugging. “Thanks.”

“S’true,” Liam says under his breath, looking away.

Zayn grins back, slouching in his chair again but only so he can press his knees to Liam’s under the table like it’s an accident –

And everything afterwards is _intentional_ , from the way he casually slides his phone towards Liam for his number and the way he orders another round of coffees even though he’s missed his class and Liam already looks wired.

This fucking boy is doing a brilliant job of ruining him without even trying.

When they shove out into the cold London air and head down the street in opposite directions, Zayn clings to the warmth of Liam’s fingers and the press of his foot to keep him stable all the way back to campus. It takes him hours to forget Liam’s face and a long shower, wanking off under the steam and water pressure, before he can forget the way Liam smiles or the sound of his soft voice.

He hasn’t felt this numb in years – _since sixteen_ , he tells himself but it wasn’t quite like this.

It’s a bad, horrible sign and he knows it so he buries himself in _the Taming of the Shrew_ because it’s controversial and distracting.

Like Liam’s tongue or his laugh or his strong hands.

It’s the only thing swirling through Zayn’s mind when he tries to fall asleep – another fucking thing he fails at.

 

//

 

“So,” Louis says in a loud, crowded pub, shaking up something sour and strong behind the counter with narrowed sea-salt eyes that make blue skies look pale. “It’s been two weeks and you haven’t called him?”

It sounds more like an accusation when it comes from Louis’ chapped lips and Zayn wants to comment on Louis’ stupid skintight jeans, his scuffed up Vans, the way his striped shirt looks _criminal_ under this minimalist lighting but he doesn’t.  He just shrugs offhandedly and sips at his beer.

“That’s shit Malik,” he adds, knocking the fringe out of his eyes before giving him a sneaky grin.

Louis has always been like this – _forthright_.  Even now, starting his post-grad year in psychology and Zayn’s still not certain how Louis has made it this far because he’s spent more time bartending and attending keggers at frat houses than studying since the day they met.  Louis is nothing less than a sharp tongue and a manic grin.

He’s an actual bastard to most people but, secretly, they both know Louis holds an affectionate spot in his cold, cold heart for Zayn.

Zayn shrugs at him again, chewing on his lip. “I don’t – “

Louis groans before he can finish, spilling some colorful drink into a glass before squeezing a lemon over it. “It’s bullshit, man.  Everyone dates.”

“I don’t,” Zayn mumbles around the lip of his beer. He refuses to look up – he knows Louis is flipping him off with a smile.  It’s all routine now.

Louis shoots him a smirk across the bar, filling a few more drink orders between the thump of some bass-heavy song and the shouting crowd. “Well, last I checked you still have a _dick_ so just shag the bloke and be done with it,” he suggests with a small shrug.  He passes out sugary-strong drinks to a row of blue-eyed, brunette triplets with a cheeky grin before winking over his shoulder at Zayn.  “Do _something_ and stop pining over him.”

Zayn scowls back at him, swirling beer around his mouth to drown the apprehension he knows is captured in his throat. “I’m not – “

“The fuck you are,” Louis counters, laughing low and teasing.

“I’m definitely not.”

“Sweetheart,” Louis sighs with a gentle smile, leaning over the bar to pat a warm hand against Zayn’s cheek in this ridiculously patronizing form, “you’re practically _yearning_ by the second over this boy.  It’s embarrassing.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn groans, knocking Louis’ hand away and the pulse of _‘flicking through a little book of sex tips remember when the boys were all electric?’_ drowns out half of his voice.

“Whatever you say, mate,” Louis chuckles, passing out beers across the bar.

Zayn bites at his thumbnail, smiling behind his knuckles at Louis. He knows Louis won’t leave it alone – it’s not in his character and it’s one of the qualities Zayn loves best about him.

He’s insatiable in ways that should be illegal.

“I think I sort of hate you,” Zayn grins when Louis passes.

“You don’t,” Louis replies with a smile and another beer, “but it’s a beautiful thought, innit?”

Louis inclines to ruffle a few fingers through Zayn’s hair but Zayn’s reflexes are quicker. He swats the hand away, giggling, and spins on his stool to stare out the smoky windows into the city.

He loves this side of London. Where the shops refuse to overlap each other like a domino effect.  Where the night sinks around you like a warm winter jacket rather than under your skin like an electric pulse.  Right here where the streets are still crowded but the city beats under your feet like the start of your favorite song – the one that’s stuck in your head all night long.

It distracts him enough that he barely misses Bradford – well, most days.

He still misses his mum’s cooking and the scent of Doniya’s perfume, the sound of Safaa singing along to MTV in the morning. The way Waliyha’s sleepy eyes look after studying all night.  His entire family crowded together in a small backyard every year to celebrate Eid al-Fitr.

The sound of his name over his father’s tongue when he says _‘I’m proud of you beta, my sweet Zayn.’_

He feels the slide of something cold down his spine, this uncomfortable feeling wrapping tightly around his lungs until he has to swallow half of his beer to warm everything again. He blinks away that sharp feeling behind his eyelids because –

He told himself when he got accepted into London Met that he’d live by _‘no regrets.’_ That he’d be stronger _for them_ rather than himself.

A warm arm curls around his shoulder and he fumbles a smile for Louis when he budges up on the stool next to Zayn’s. Louis steals his beer, drags a few fingers through the back of Zayn’s hair and all the noise surrounding them feels anticlimactic when Louis grins around the bottle.

“C’mon Zayn,” he says with wriggling eyebrows, a dramatic curl of his lips. “You’re not even a little curious about him?”

“Nope.”

“Zayn,” Louis groans, squeezing tighter with his arm.

Zayn drops his chin to hide his smile, to disguise the pink flush of his cheeks.

He really hates Louis Tomlinson.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” he mumbles, already shuffling to pull out his phone and a beat-up pack of Marlboros from his jeans.

Louis scoffs, draining the last of the beer in one swallow. “You love me.”

“Hate you,” he mutters back.

“Same thing,” Louis insists, hopping off the stool to stumble back around the bar.

Zayn’s certain, in Louis’ rather fucked up mind, they probably are the same thing. But he doesn’t comment on that.

Instead, he tugs on his old varsity jacket, lights a cigarette halfway to the door and he’s practically incapable of not queuing up Liam’s name when he’s outside. The cool October air fits into all of the spaces between his clothes and he takes one long haul of smoke to saturate his lungs before he listens for another voice on the other side of the phone.

“Um, ‘lo?”

Zayn’s certain that the stupid thump of his heart in his chest, the way his throat dries up immediately is a sign that this was an absolute mistake – _fuck you Louis Tomlinson and your cheap beer_.

He smiles anyways, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder while taking another deep breath of smoke. It fogs around him as he moves aimlessly down the street, his lungs catching fire –

And it’s another sign he can’t interpret because he doesn’t know if the heat is from the nicotine or from the way Liam’s voice sounds, raspy and sleep-heavy and that sort of wonder Zayn attaches to little children on Christmas morning.

“Hey,” he finally says, nervously, dragging spare fingers through his quiff. “It’s Zayn.  I mean, Zayn from the – “

“The coffee shop,” Liam says a little quickly. A little happily.

It’s a cliché, but Zayn swears his heart speeds up to the sound of Liam’s voice.

A _massive_ fucking mistake.

“Yeah,” he grins, swirling the smoke in his mouth to burn up this lightness he can’t chase back down his throat. “From a few weeks ago.  You remembered?”

He hates the way he sounds abashed, shocked and sort of delighted because – fuck, he probably sounds like a complete arse.

“I do.”

Zayn bites down roughly on his bottom lip to contain his smile. He glances up at the dark sky, at the way the pulverized stars look like smashed glass along the oil-dark skyline.  They shine like fireflies and distract Zayn just enough that he can’t hear his own heavy breathing when he imagines Liam smiling on the other end of the phone.

“I thought you would forget such a boring bloke like myself,” Liam says after a beat of silence.

His eyes trace along his shaking hand holding the cigarette. His lip is sore from the pressure of sharp teeth and he still can’t bite off the smile that keeps lifting his mouth higher.

“You’re not boring, bro,” he insists, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Not at all.”

He thinks he hears Liam giggle but it’s distorted by the traffic, by the passing people. He swallows another breath of smoke rather than thinking about it but his thoughts succumb so quickly to the idea of Liam blushing, of him grinning idiotically, of maybe the way his cock stirs in his jeans at the breathy laugh Zayn returns.

“This alright?” Zayn wonders, tugging his jacket closed against the autumn breeze. “S’okay that I called you?  This late?  I mean, after this long because, dude, I understand if – “

Liam clears his throat loudly and there’s that giggle.

Zayn smirks and wonders if the blush is slowly turning that tan skin into a gorgeous pink.

“Wouldn’t have given you my number if I thought otherwise,” Liam replies, calming the shake in his voice.

The shake that _Zayn_ produces.  He knocks away the arrogance, the pride in knowing he’s done that to Liam because his own fucking hand won’t stop trembling and his lungs keep contracting too quickly at the quiet timbre of Liam’s voice.

Because he’s the absolute worst at this.

“Good,” he sighs, wrecking his quiff with his fingers. “Because I would’ve called sooner but – “

“Doesn’t matter,” Liam smiles, his voice relaxed. “You were probably busy.”

 _Not really_ , Zayn thinks, even if he was buried in studies and courses and trying to fit into this huge, imposing city without feeling swallowed alive.

He muses on how all of the seconds in-between could’ve been filled with _Liam_ and that’s a little telling.

No, it’s a lot _frightening_ but he refuses to acknowledge that part.

Zayn takes a slow pull of dingy smoke instead of commenting on that, grinning into the phone when Liam takes in a deep breath like he’s searching for courage. Like there’s a small boy, shy and nervy, behind all of those muscles and tan skin and warm brown eyes.

“Maybe we could – “

“We could,” Zayn says immediately, smirking at the smile he can hear on the other side of the phone.

“Sometime soon?”

“Possibly,” Zayn hums and this aching smile won’t retreat.

He fucking hates this feeling. That feeling of being somewhere between a sure thing and falling off the edge of a cliff.  This insecure feeling overwhelmed by exaggerated thoughts of _maybe_ and _is this a dream_.  That unjustified suspension.

“Well, I was thinking – “

Zayn smiles to himself with smoke settling down the rush of his lungs and a certain kind of heat flooding his chest. He can hear the curiosity in Liam’s voice, the careful tone like he’s chasing something.  He exhales the smoke upward, watching it spin dizzily towards the stars, the sharp London sky.

He bites the corner of his bottom lip and counts the breaths Liam exhales before he adds, “Coffee?”

Zayn snorts, dragging his thumb along his chapped lips.

It’s _simple_.  Nothing about things like this are meant to be simple, right?  But the suggestion picks at his heart, unsteadies the beats and there’s this raging beast in the pit of his stomach reminding him he doesn’t do this but –

“M’not busy,” Zayn sighs, flicking away his cigarette. “If you’re asking.”

“I’m asking,” Liam says a little too quickly, this embarrassingly shy giggle following.

Zayn smiles into the collar of his jacket and something sways his next breath from his lungs when Liam repeats, quieter with a little more emphasis, “I’m asking, mate.”

“Where?” Zayn asks without thinking, automatically settling his lip between his teeth again.

There’s a quiet pause where the wind kicks Zayn’s fringe in his eyes and all of the people passing him feel invisible. All of the city’s noise and the burn of the night fade off.  He just counts Liam’s careful breaths and, absently, synchronizes his own to the sounds.

“I know a place.”

 

//

 

“So it’s _Ja_ – um, how d’ya say it again?”

Zayn grins, watches the way the bursts of pink heat spread from Liam’s soft cheeks down to below the collar of his rumpled flannel.

They’re in another coffee shop on another side of the city, further from campus but this offbeat place Liam suggested is still flocked with the usual crowd of weekend university students, locals, that familiar gang of half-pissed teens trying to stop the hangover before it comes. The spaces between their words are filled with acoustic music from shit speakers and there’s this overwhelming scent of poorly roasted beans that Zayn clings to because it reminds him of Bradford.

Of another time, another place, another life.

They’re standing in a long queue, shuffling closer to the counter – and closer to each other, not that Zayn’s noticing but – with spare conversations in-between about nothing in particular. It would feel like useless information, in another time or another place or another moment, but Zayn loves the way Liam looks so attentive.  The way those little crinkles form around his eyes when he smiles, the way he’s swaying nervously between songs, the inadvertent brush of their knuckles when they move forward.

He loves the brush of their shoulders like they’re not meaning to crowd too close to anyone else in line yet they can’t help but unconsciously touch each other.

He swears it’s all a mistake but it keeps happening.

 _He keeps making it happen_.

“Javaad,” he says, slow and careful while Liam mouths along with sugary pink lips and a gentle tongue. It tickles a laugh from deep in his chest and he tries so hard to hide his abashed grin when Liam joins him.  “My father is Pakistani.  Him and me mum liked Zain because it means – “

“It means _‘beautiful,’_ right?” Liam says, readjusting his positioning to hide his embarrassed cheeks when Zayn looks up with a smile.  “In Arabic?”

Their elbows knock as they move and Zayn can’t help the surprised look on his face. But he presses just a little closer until their hips graze.

“Yeah,” he breathes, still astonished by the flow of oxygen in his lungs now.

Liam gives him this nervous smile, twisting his bottom lip between his teeth and scratching at the nape of his neck with his fingers. He’s humming lowly to the _‘lying in the dark and I think I’m beginning to know_ her’ playing softly in the background and there’s this _anticipation_ the closer they get to the front.

Like they’re seconds from escaping this line and all of these people just to grip the world around them.

It’s a stupid sensation – even when Liam flutters his eyelashes, the fucking tease – but he lets it float around them.

He really is shit at this.

Zayn doesn’t know why but he listens intently to Liam’s coffee order – a hint of caramel, a splash of milk instead of cream, a strong and dark aroma – as if he’ll need it for future reference.

Like a cure for a wonderful night in bed.

Like this is more than something casual.

As if there’s a possibility Liam’s even remotely interested or there could be something more.

“Want a biscuit?” Liam offers, stirring him from his thoughts.

Zayn bites at his dry lips, considering. He sniffs, shrugging.  “Chocolate muffin?” he suggests instead.

“Perfect,” Liam grins and their fingers brush, _unintentionally_ he tells himself, when they reach for their coffee orders.

They walk out into the chilled night, with a heavy sky and flickering stars and city noise surrounding them. And there’s so much space on the crowded streets but they huddle together, shoulders knocking and Zayn clings to Liam’s warmth like it’s a fire in the middle of Siberia.

“Have you yet watched the new _Iron Man 3_ trailer?” Liam asks, peeling away bits of the chocolate muffin while the wind brushes over their backs.

Zayn grins when Liam cautiously feeds it to him, his tongue catching over Liam’s fingers and neither one of them is shy about the looks they exchange when Liam’s fingers drag across his bottom lip.

Zayn hums his approval, nodding. “Looks sick.”

“Definitely,” Liam agrees with a smile.

Their elbows knock again and Zayn’s a little helpless to Liam’s shaking fingers before he tilts his chin up. He lets Liam brush away the crumbs from his mouth and his tongue darts out to swipe across Liam’s thumb, teasing him with a laugh that Liam yelps at.

“You’re driving me mad,” Liam giggles, sipping at his coffee.

“In what way?” Zayn wonders, chasing down the blush with black coffee.

Liam shrugs but stumbles closer to Zayn, letting Zayn pick at the edges of the muffin to feed to him.

“Just in that,” Liam stops, licks away the crumbs from Zayn’s fingers before snorting. “In that _headrush_ kind of way, y’know?  I dunno.  Can’t explain it.  That’s rubbish, right?”

 _Not in the slightest_ , Zayn thinks, looking away.  He watches the passing taxi cabs, the crowd of university girls leaving a thumping club.  He studies the neon signs and the Chinese takeaway shops instead of focusing on Liam’s birthmark or his wide smile or the way his throat muscles move when he smiles.

He’s not sixteen and ready to write poetry.

He’s not twelve and trying to forget a first kiss.

And he’d much prefer Wonder Woman to this insatiable heat burning up his insides.

“I hate rollercoasters,” Zayn says and he knows it’s meaningless but he thinks it’s a good enough distraction –

Even though their knuckles are touching when they finish the muffin and they take a sip of steaming coffee at the same time.

“Hated the Green Lantern film,” Liam admits softly, chuckling. “And I cried when Rachel Dawes died in _the Dark Knight_.”

“Me too,” Zayn laughs, swaying closer. “Pretty pathetic.”

“S’ppose so,” Liam grins, offering Zayn his coffee as they turn a corner.  “Don’t tell me mates though.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” Zayn says, low and throaty because he can’t help himself.

This boy is seeping into his veins and this is not like him.

He sips slowly at Liam’s coffee and he hates it. It’s too sweet for him, too unlike anything he’s ever tried and that’s it, isn’t it?

Liam’s unlike anything Zayn’s ever tried.

Their coffees go cold as they walk but Zayn clutches to his cup to stop himself from grabbing Liam’s hand. His spare fingers keep skimming along Liam’s but he doesn’t pull away.  Liam doesn’t either, not that he’s counting that as a victory.

Just a reminder, he reckons.

They’re somewhere in the middle of a blitzkrieg of the city, somewhere he doesn’t recognize but he hasn’t been paying attention to the landscape anymore. He’s too focused on the flicker of freckles across Liam’s nose, deep under the tan skin.  He’s eyeing Liam’s shiny lips from the coffee, from his tongue.  He’s watching the stupid, crooked smile and how the city’s lights reflect off hickory eyes.

Zayn bites at his own lip when they’re face to face under the heavy sky. He remembers this song in the background, the _‘unsentimental, driving around sure of myself sure of it now,’_ and Liam keeps watching him like he might move away.

He doesn’t think a hurricane could knock him back.

Liam’s thumbs is drawing odd shapes over his cheek, still warm fingers from the coffee along his jaw.

“This is quite,” Liam pauses, swallowing. “I mean – “

Zayn nods at him like he’s giving his consent because he’s sorted Liam is horrible with words.

He’s so far from poetry and pretty literature and that’s always turned Zayn off.

Except he’s hard now and his heart is thumping so maybe it’s just a passing feeling but –

Liam kisses him before he can figure it all out. He kisses Zayn like he’s a little more confident without words in the way, with a steady mouth and calloused fingers lifting Zayn’s chin to angle everything.  With this soft pressure that’s so foreign to Zayn because all of his first kisses were _clumsy_ or _rough_ or just a _necessity_ before the clothes came off.

But Liam kisses like it’s the body of a novel rather than the opening line.

He doesn’t mind the taste of Liam’s coffee now, when it’s fed to him by a skillful tongue. He likes the burn of his early cigarettes with Liam’s mint gum, the stutter of their mouths when Zayn kisses back.

Liam stumbles out of the kiss, dropping his eyes to Zayn’s swollen mouth and looking ashamed.

“Sorry. Fuck, I’m so so-sorry.  That was a mistake,” he stammers, still not looking up.  “Probably inappropriate, right?”

“Depends,” Zayn smirks, stepping back. He licks his tongue over his lips, collecting the last of Liam to savor.  “If this is just a one-off, then things are progressing properly.  But if it’s something _more_ , than – “

Liam sucks in a quick breath, shoulders squeezing up with a shaky laugh. He runs a few fingers over Zayn’s hip, slow and seducing before he pulls away.

“Right, well,” he breathes, stumbling back. “I’ve sorted out that it was quite inappropriate then.”

He’s got bright eyes, a lopsided smile that Zayn mimics. He doesn’t need Liam to elaborate.  He just needs that careful brush of their shoulders when they start to walk again, even if it threatens to wreck everything Zayn has established long ago.

Like no first dates and no simple chatter just for a fuck. No giving into the flutter of his heart because that’s for romantic comedies and pretentious love stories.

But there’s a promise in Liam’s wide eyes when he walks Zayn all the way back to campus and they don’t kiss goodnight because Liam mutters something about _being a gentleman_ but they exchange these silly grins before Zayn pecks him on the cheek.

“You’ll call me sooner this time, right?” Liam stumbles out, a hand cupping the nape of his neck.

“Maybe,” Zayn replies and he absolutely melts at the surprised look on Liam’s face.

“But I bought you coffee.”

Zayn licks away the smile from his lips, nodding.

“I’ll call,” Zayn laughs, waving him off. “Soon.”

“In the morning!” Liam calls out, grinning.

Zayn doesn’t want to tell him _more like in an hour, after I’ve wanked off thinking about you and scolded Louis for ever suggesting this_ , but he smiles kindly and staggers all the way to his room.

It takes him a couple of hours to shove away this cold feeling for breaking all of his own rules.

And when he’s calm, with Liam yawning on the other side of the phone, between warm sheets and with drowsy eyes, he creates a few new rules.

All of which include the notion of dating silly, geeky boys that remind him of Liam and the scent of his coffee.

 

//

 

**November 2012**

 

Zayn really likes Liam’s flatmate, Niall.

Niall, who always makes Zayn play video games with him whenever he’s crashing at their flat for a few hours.

Who is nothing like Louis, who’s an absolute tit most days but Niall is happy even when it’s raining. He’s a soaring laugh and flushed cheeks and a complete riot when left to his own devices.

Who laughs loudly with red cheeks and squished blue eyes at all of Zayn’s dumb jokes even though Zayn knows he’s not that funny.

Niall, who always makes a mess in the kitchen and blames it on Zayn, even though he is covered in flour and pancake batter when Liam finds them sat on their shitty couch with two bowls of cereal and old Spider-Man cartoons on.

Who plays air drum solos to old Eagles tunes while Zayn studies next to him, laughing into his shoulder when Niall jumps on the ratty cushions, wailing about _‘take it easy, don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy’_ even while Liam scolds him in the background –

And Zayn is so aware how easily he falls into their chaotic rhythm. How he kips on Liam’s couch between classes.  The way he smiles whenever Niall catches them snogging between episodes of _Breaking Bad_ but still offers them leftover takeaway just before midnight when they’re all too sleepy to brave the cold London breeze.  How, after just a month, he spends more time at Liam’s flat than his own university hall and the way he’s always amused when Liam crawls sleepily into his arms after classes.

The way neither of them comment on how _this thing_ has evolved from quiet kisses in the dark when their hands were still so unsure of where to rest to slow grinding on a beat-up couch because they’re not certain when to stop.

Or how it’s never gotten further than that – snogging until they’re breathless and smiling into the crook of a warm neck until they’re tired.

There’s never typical mating rituals like dinner, alone, at posh restaurants or casual conversations while holding hands at the cinema.

It’s greasy pizza and sour beers and Niall snoring on Zayn’s shoulder while they watch _the First Avenger_ for the _fifth_ time, together, without missing a line of dialogue – it’s Liam pretending to laugh when Bucky dies when really he just curls around Zayn with a pink nose brushing the line of Zayn’s neck and his fingers stroking over the buzz cut until Liam calms.

But Zayn _really_ likes Niall.

Niall, who is standing over him with a scowl and shock-blonde hair pulled up manically. There’s a slight curve around the corner of his mouth like he’s trying to suppress a smile and Zayn swiftly lifts his eyebrows like _‘what’s up’_ before Niall sighs loudly.

“You look pensive,” he reprimands, folding his arms over his chest.

Zayn arches an eyebrow in return, smiling.

He knows Niall has been stealing his literature books, quizzing Zayn during study sessions or paying closer attention to the clues written into his crossword puzzles. Liam finds it amusing but Zayn thinks it’s a tactic.  Niall is silently protective of Liam and, maybe, Zayn gets it.

He wants to make sure Zayn is for real even though neither one of them have given a definition to whatever it is they’re doing.

Dating? No.  Zayn doesn’t do that.

 _Casual time filler_ is what Danny calls it.  Zayn thinks that’s bullshit too but he’s not inclined to disagree, not fully.

“M’not,” Zayn replies, watching Niall from an upside down view on the couch.

He’s sprawled across the soft cushions with an open textbook on his bare chest, hair tugged out of place – by Liam’s hands earlier because Liam is addicted to putting his fingers in Zayn’s hair while they kiss and Zayn never complains – with his glasses on. He doesn’t need them much for reading anymore but Liam likes them and, for some stupid reason, he’s become that lad who likes to _impress_ other boys.

Danny would call him a joke, Louis would call him a romantic.

Zayn thinks he’s neither one but he likes that soft smile that crawls over Liam’s lips when he catches Zayn studying quietly with glasses and flat hair half-hanging in his eyes.

“Liam,” Niall groans, tapping an impatient foot on their dark hardwood floor. “He looks pensive.”

“He doesn’t,” Liam laughs from the kitchen. “Leave ‘im alone, Nialler.  You don’t even know what that word means.”

“I do,” Niall argues, moving around to flop down into Zayn’s lap. “Summat about being moody or broody.  One of ‘em words.”

“You’re an idiot,” Liam giggles and Zayn exhales an easy grin when Niall shrugs.

“I figure,” Niall starts, pulling Zayn’s feet into his lap before nicking his textbook, “it’s ‘cause it’s been a month of _courting_ – “

“I don’t court,” Zayn objects but Niall waves him off.

“ – and you still haven’t shagged the lad,” Niall finishes with a huff.

Something clatters or shatters in the kitchen and Liam lets out a sharp yelp that Niall snickers at. A hot flush runs down Zayn’s chest, across his cheeks and he prods Niall’s stomach with a toe to silence him.

“How d’ya know we haven’t fucked?” Zayn mumbles, blinding reaching for his notebook.

He quickly avoids meeting Niall’s eyes when he lifts his brow at Zayn. Instead, he studies all of the little doodles in the margins, all of the words he’s penciled in between notes about authors – the little notes like _‘he hates peas’ ‘he likes the Hulk’ ‘he sleeps on his stomach’_ – until he can’t bare the way it reminds him of having a high school crush.

Or being a serial killer, he’s not certain which.

“He doesn’t,” Liam chokes out, stumbling into the living room area. He glares at Niall before adding, “You _don’t_.”

Niall snorts, stretching with his hands folded behind his head.

“I can tell,” he insists with a wild smirk. “You’re noisy when you toss one off, Li.  You really get into it, breathing all heavy.  Shit, I can imagine you’re much louder in bed.”

Liam flushes a bright pink and smacks Niall with a pillow while Zayn bites down on his lip to disfigure his grin. He catches Liam watching from the corner of his eye, nervous and twitchy like he was on that first day.  He looks young and guilty before he reaches out to fix Zayn’s glasses, carding fingers through Zayn’s hair.

“Maybe I’m quieter when we fool around,” Liam suggests, his voice still strangled.

Niall barks out a laugh. “I sorted you two would be into that kind of shit.  Gagging and handcuffs, probably.  Zayn looks like the dominant kind.”

Zayn chokes out a laugh and Liam punches Niall in the shoulder, hard.

“Fuck off,” Liam grumbles. “M’not submissive like that.”

Zayn raises his brow at him and Liam blushes harder, ducking his head. He can see the soft outline of his thickening cock behind Liam’s jeans, the way he tries to hide it by shuffling away.  Zayn drags his pen across the margin – _‘wants to be controlled in bed’_ – with a grin.

“Whatever,” Niall hums, stretching on the couch and it’s a small fit but they make it work.

Niall always makes them fit, like he needs to be touched, like he needs the warmth and the comfort of someone other than Liam most days.

“We haven’t,” Zayn whispers while Liam dances around in the kitchen to something playing low on the radio.

He holds his next breath in his chest – cold rather than hot like cigarette smoke – until Niall drags his brow upward, blinking at him. There’s an uncontrollable smile sliding over his lips like he’s proud, like this is more than just a one-off and Zayn doesn’t know why he’s so comfortable with that.

With Liam.

He shrugs back at Niall, twisting his lip with his teeth. “Don’t really know why yet,” he explains softly, blowing out a breath.  “Maybe we haven’t – I mean, I _want_ to.  I just keep thinking I’m gonna, y’know, fuck a brilliant thing up.  M’good at that.”

Niall slouches on the couch, drags calloused fingers over the arch of Zayn’s foot until Zayn tugs away with a clipped laugh.

“He hasn’t really been this happy,” Niall smiles. “Not like this.  So I doubt y’can muck it up.”

Zayn nods and he feels that weight on his chest he’s been ignoring lighten.

“Not unless,” Niall says while leaning in, “you’re completely horrible in bed. Like _awful_.  I don’t see how most lads can be unless – you can suck cock, right?  You know what to do with it, yeah?”

Actually, Zayn sort of really hates Niall.

“Niall,” Liam says in this warning tone that Niall quickly ignores in favor of wrap warm fingers around Zayn’s ankle. “Leave my – “

Zayn freezes immediately, biting his lip.

Niall notices, stroking patient fingers along Zayn’s heel until he breathes again. Until whatever is wrapped around his chest loosens.

“You’re _what_?” Niall asks, teasingly.

Zayn closes his eyes, waits to taste the blood on his tongue from his teeth and lip. His muscles refuse to relax, even with Niall’s careful hands and this constant reminder in his head – this is _nothing_ , this will pass like everything else does.

“My Zayn,” Liam finally says, soft and nervous.

His name in that accent, with the hints of affection, with the _something more_ stretched wide around the words tickles a small smile over Zayn’s mouth.

“Your Zayn,” Niall repeats, smirking.

Zayn kicks him while the blush peppers over his cheeks. He reaches for his pen and – _‘his Zayn’_ – regretfully smudges ink along his notebook until it smears over his hand.

He absolutely hates Niall in the most opposite form of the word.

 

//

 

**December 2012**

 

“My boyfriend.”

The morning sun is peeking through the frost clinging to the windows of Liam’s flat, thick clumps of snow bordering the panes. It’s too early, he can tell, by the quiet of the city and the way Liam’s breathing is still rhythmic like he’s trying to climb out of a heavy sleep.

His voice is rough and scratchy and Zayn loves it, loves the way it drips down into his ear – the one not pressed to Liam’s bare chest, listening intently to the turbulent thump of his heart behind his ribs – while they’re sprawled across his bed.

Liam’s massive bed is the only thing that looks out of place in this tiny flat. The only piece of furniture that looks expensive and _completely unnecessary_ –

except for mornings like this, when they’re curled around each other, under the sheets, while the cold seeps through the cracks

– and Zayn reminds Liam of that almost every night when he sleeps over. Liam doesn’t argue but he fumbles a smile, strips Zayn down to his loose joggers and barely flinches a muscle when he tosses Zayn onto the comfy king-size mattress.

They’re drowsy, halfway between dreams and warm skin, and the world feels lopsided when Zayn’s eyes flutter open at the sound of Liam’s voice.

“Hmm?”

Liam smiles against his temple, his fingers in their favorite place – caught in Zayn’s thick hair, running along his hairline – when he shuffles to drag Zayn across him.

It’s a week after term has ended and they can’t quite get themselves to steal away to their hometowns. Louis’ already left for Doncaster, happily kissing Zayn’s cheek with promises to call, before catching a train to meet his girlfriend halfway to home.

Niall’s snoring down the hall, probably already missing his taxi to the airport for an early flight back home.

Harry, Liam’s mate from family summer vacations near Chelsea, is dropping by in a couple of hours to drive them back to the Midlands and Zayn can’t quite find the strength – or the _courage_ but that word feels so heavy on his tongue when Niall asks him about it – to board his own train back to Bradford, back to his family.

Back to a place that Liam doesn’t quite exist in.

“My boyfriend,” Liam repeats, rubbing the sleep away with the heel of his hand, “s’what me sisters are calling you.”

Zayn feels something cold biting through his blood while Liam carefully drags his fingers down the nape of his neck, tracing the fantail inked high on his spine. They are still without definition, without a term for each other and it feels awkward but appropriate because Zayn doesn’t date and Liam doesn’t –

Well he doesn’t know _what_ Liam does when it comes to boys because they’re always shying away from the subject.

But this – this admission, this willingness to discuss Zayn with his sisters – feels foreign.

Wait – it feels _incredible_.

It burns something light and hot back into his system and he mumbles a groan into Liam’s bare chest to calm all of the strained muscles Liam’s trying to hide.

“You talk about me?”

“It’s hard not to,” Liam laughs, low and deceptively throaty like a smoker’s cough. “They say you can’t spend this much time with someone and not have a name for them.”

“I liked Zayn,” he whispers into Liam’s neck, forcing himself not to smile. It doesn’t work.

“My Zayn,” Liam snorts, threading his fingers into Zayn’s wrecked hair again. “But still – “

“Was it hard?” Zayn interrupts, brushing his dry lips against Liam’s birth mark.

Liam hums softly, his free hand running beneath the sheets to crawl across the small of Zayn’s back. Their muscles flex and shake together and Zayn swears it’s because of the fucking winter air but that feels like an inadequate assumption.

It’s probably because they’re tiptoeing close to the edge again – Liam’s hand low on Zayn’s back, Zayn’s morning stiffy pressing to Liam’s thigh, their bare feet brushing near the foot of the bed – but Zayn strays from those thoughts to listen to Liam.

“Telling them about me and you?”

“Telling them about _you_ ,” Zayn corrects.

He can see Liam biting his lip, nervous eyes scanning the room like someone might be listening.

Like it’s as difficult as Zayn thought it would be for Liam to tell anyone other than Niall about meeting a boy. Being fond of a boy.  Sharing coffee and kisses and hushed conversations with a boy.

About Zayn.

“Nicola wasn’t too fond of it at first,” Liam sighs. “But I think it’s because she kept hoping I would reunite with an ex-girlfriend she adored.  Pretty stupid.”

“It’s not,” Zayn argues, biting Liam’s collarbone. “Sisters are protective like that.”

Liam hums an approving noise. “Maybe.  Ruth was okay with it though.  Says she kind of always knew, which is funny because I didn’t.  Not always.”

Zayn bites his lip because it feels so similar. Just like the rest of them.  So familiar but with different footnotes and characters and backgrounds.

“Wasn’t ashamed though,” Liam grins. He presses down on Zayn’s spine until their hips grind and Zayn moans appreciatively before trying to scramble away.

“They love the idea of me being happy, y’know? Even told my mate Andy about it.  The dolt just wants to know if this means I’ll stop ringing him up about all the new Batman stuff I find here in London,” Liam laughs, cupping the nape of Zayn’s neck to keep him still.

“Are you – happy, I mean?”

He knows he sounds incredibly shy and it’s toxic, this feeling, but he lets it flood his organs until he can’t function.

“Of course,” Liam breathes and Zayn shares that long exhale with him. “S’okay, right?”

Zayn huffs a soft noise into the crook of Liam’s neck. “It’s good, Li.  It’s definitely good.”

He can feel the width of Liam’s smile across his forehead, warm and chapped, and his fingers run the hollows of Liam’s ribs until he giggles.

His eyes scan over the room. The dim flakes of sun leave a dull yellow glow to the hardwood floors.  Some of his clothes are piled on the floor near the foot of the bed, his shoes tucked into a corner.  Liam’s comics are stacked neatly on Zayn’s textbooks on the nightstand, half of one of Zayn’s jumpers peeking out of a drawer on the dresser.  Their empty coffee mugs are on the floor.  His notebook is open near the window.

And everything about Liam’s room feels like _theirs_ , oddly.

Briefly, something incredibly warm mixes with the fear and he can’t breathe properly.

“My mum is quite excited about it. Ruth told her all about this boy I met in London,” Liam grins, fingers in Zayn’s hair again.  He gives a soft tug and Zayn strangles the whine in his throat to bite at Liam’s birthmark.  “My dad is a bit quiet about it all but he’ll come around.  He’s always a bit protective of his only son.  It’s a bit silly.”

Zayn closes his eyes and his lungs involuntarily take a deep drag. He can feel all of his nerves twisting, his heart unsettled.  It’s not supposed to feel like this, right?  That uncertainty underneath your skin.  The composure in your bones but the twitch along your muscles.

That guilty feeling because, underneath the bravado, Zayn is quite certain this is that _‘too good to be true’_ sensation his mum always warned him about.

“Alright?” Liam asks, a thumb stroking the bone in Zayn’s hip.

Zayn coughs out a breath, nodding without looking up.

“Fine.”

“You sure?” Liam wonders. “Christ, what’s wrong with me?  I’m a complete donut, yeah?  I probably should’ve – “

“Liam, m’fine,” Zayn tries again but there’s little conviction in his voice.

“No, I should’ve thought better,” Liam groans, stretching and yawning. “It’s not okay that I let me sisters in on this.  That I let them call you _my boyfriend_ ‘cause we’re not there, right?  S’not like I do it me’self but still it’s the point, right?  Fucking genius move Payno.”

“Hey,” Zayn says with a laugh following, crawling up Liam until their foreheads are pressed together and Liam’s shaking hands settle on his hips. “ _Leeyum_.”

Liam blinks up at him, frowning.

“It’s fine,” Zayn repeats slowly, grinning. “Siblings are always a bit much, okay?  But I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“Massively sure,” Zayn sighs, his tongue instinctively licking out to wet his lips before he presses them smoothly to Liam’s mouth. It’s brief and adequate before Zayn presses a little firmer to reinforce his words.

“Harry will be by in a bit. Should probably finish packing,” Liam suggests, trying to roll away but Zayn whines in disapproval.

He fucking cradles Liam’s hips between his knees and anchors himself to Liam until Liam stretches flat across the bed, looking up with wide eyes. Out the corner of his eye he can see the snow picking up again, dressing the city in white, the frost fogging the windows and this feels –

 _Wow_.

His hands splay flat on either side of Liam’s head. He can’t help his grin or the way his cheeks flush instantly when he grinds his hips down like an indication.

No, an _invitation_.

“Was thinking,” he says while brushing his lips against Liam’s, swallowing the _‘oh fuck’_ from Liam’s mouth when he tilts his hips down to meet Liam’s thrust, “I won’t see you for at least a week.”

“Keep this up and I’ll be back in less than a day,” Liam teases but Zayn ignores it.

He grins into another kiss. “And we haven’t – “

“Not yet,” Liam huffs with fluttering eyelashes.

Zayn snorts. “Thinking maybe we should, yeah?  Not that my hand can’t do my cock a proper favor.  But it feels like – the right time, innit?”

“You think?” Liam groans instead of asks, muscles straining to hold Zayn still.

Zayn wiggles and presses down again until the outline of his cock brushes the firm line of Liam’s dick. He can taste last night’s coffee on Liam’s tongue, the sharp spearmint from his toothpaste and the hitch in Liam’s hips distract him from the fingers tugging at his waistband.

“I’ve sort of wanted to,” Liam admits, his voice low in this sweet baritone that Zayn’s not expecting. “But I was being a proper gentleman about it, okay?  I sorted out you wanted it to be an important thing.  To make sure I was gonna stick around or summat.”

“Maybe,” Zayn laughs while fingers tease over his naked hip.

“Hey,” Liam mumbles when their eyes meet and the morning light pales compared to the honey tone of Liam’s skin like this, with the blush and raw bottom lip. “I was always gonna stick around.”

Zayn nods, pinching his own lip with his teeth. “I know, mate.”

Liam grins but it’s an absentminded move before he knocks his hips to Zayn’s and they croon softly into each other’s mouths.

He thinks in lyrics rather than clear patterns and _‘won’t you stay with me tonight you could be my cure’_ echoes in his ears when they separate.  He can’t help himself – the way he dives in for a few more kisses while their hands tug away uncomfortable clothing.  Their mouths move in this old-fashioned rhythm he thinks he remembers from carnal kisses he’s had before but no one has ever kissed him like _this_ –

With so much promise and so much uncertainty beneath the layers. Like Liam’s going to crack.  Like his armor is too heavy.  Like he wants Zayn to give him just a little more permission to be reckless.

Zayn groans and cants his hips with Liam’s when they kick away their pants. Liam laughs into his mouth, follows the sound with a tongue while they scramble beneath the sheets.

The cold air bites at the pieces of exposed skin not covered. It licks away the sweat crawling down Zayn’s spine from the friction.  It chases after Liam’s fingers and he hates how this stupid flat doesn’t have a proper thermostat but he ignores the cold in favor of Liam’s teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.

Liam finds a bottle of lube under a pillow – _‘sorry I get a little worked up sometimes after you leave and quit_ laughing _you knob all lads do it’_ – and there’s a condom in Zayn’s wallet for a _‘just in case’_ situation –

Like _just in case Liam finally wants to_ but they don’t discuss it.

Zayn merely presses the condom to Liam’s palm with a soft smile that’s ruined by Liam’s cold, wet fingers sneaking across his hole when he’s not paying attention.

“Asshole,” Zayn grunts, wiggling his hips until Liam’s fingers are flexing down his crack. “S’fucking cold.”

“Get over it,” Liam teases, lips dragging across the stubble along Zayn’s jaw. “You deserve it for making me wait.”

“You could’ve,” Zayn hisses, thighs trembling when Liam gently eases his finger in to the first knuckle. “Anytime.  Whenever you wanted, mate.”

“Liar,” Liam giggles, his mouth raw and swollen against the crook of Zayn’s neck. His teeth nip around Zayn’s throat before he adds, “Besides, I wanted this to be a moment.  Didn’t wanna rush it.  Wanted you to, you know, want it like I wanted it.”

Zayn’s response curls up into a knot in his chest when Liam corkscrews his finger before adding another one, slicker than the first. He tries to calm his nerves and settle his muscles and orbit his thoughts but everything is moving at lightspeed.  He’s a fucking meteor, a star gone supernova the moment Liam kisses under his jaw and presses deep before he curves his fingers.

 _Oh_.

He’s done this before, by himself, with his own fingers but –

 _Fuck Liam Payne_.

A breath stutters in his lungs and his chest feels like the core of a bonfire. His teeth bite ruthlessly at his bottom lip.  His thighs spread, just slightly, and his spine arches until he can slowly work himself onto those slicks fingers.  Until the noises his body creates are filthy.

So fucking _needy_ he doesn’t recognize his own voice when he says, “Get on with it.”

“Hey,” Liam says, confident and calm with fingers still stretching Zayn and spare ones catching his chin, tilting it up. “You’re still tight.  Have you – you done this before?”

Zayn bites at his lip until the skin almost cracks before shaking his head, eyelashes fluttering when he lowers his view.

His cock is drooling over Liam’s abdominals and his knees feel a bit raw from shifting on the soft sheets. It’s almost as if he can see all of the various muscles twitching beneath his skin but all he can hear is _‘so take away all my sin give me a sweet prayer on my lips’_ until it vibrates around everything he can’t quite control.

“Have you?” he stutters, his head cocking back when Liam adds a little more pressure.

“Not really,” Liam smiles abashedly, his thumb tracing around the rim while a calm hand pulls through Zayn’s hair. When Zayn cocks an eyebrow at him, Liam turns away with blush burning a nearby pillow.  “Not with a lad, at least.  There was this one girl – “

“Don’t tell me about it,” Zayn grits, rolling his hips against Liam’s still fingers.

Liam curves them again, right down on the – _oh fuck_ – before shooting him a smug look.  “Don’t be jealous,” he admonishes.

“Can’t help it,” Zayn tries to shrug but his shoulders are too tight, his knuckles brushing over the sheets when he tries to readjust himself. He climbs further up Liam’s chest and nearly tips over when Liam’s mouth grazes the sweat high on his collarbone.

“I’m quite possessive.”

“I know,” Liam smirks, words pressed to Zayn’s throat. “Seen how upset you got when that one girl from my class was helping me study last week.”

“She was _flirting_ ,” Zayn corrects, hissing.

Liam laughs into his mouth for an uncoordinated kiss. “M’all yours, babe.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, tries to play nonchalant but he can’t. Not with Liam stretching him, kissing him, easing _‘and take it off take me in I wanna make love to you’_ all over Zayn’s body.

“C’mon Li,” he hums, biting down carefully on Liam’s lip. “Harry – “

“Already calling me another lad’s name,” Liam teases and his breathy, even voice is the kind of diversion Zayn isn’t expecting before he slides a third finger in –

And that’s what Liam is. A simple deviation.  He’s a blindside.  Zayn never sees him coming, a tornado without an indication.

“Shut it,” Zayn grunts with a smile, with blown eyes and shaking muscles from all of the exertion.

“How do you – “

“Me on top,” Zayn says quickly, ashamed but determined. “I heard it’s better.”

Liam nods slowly, widening his fingers until Zayn is certain his muscles can’t stretch anymore. The lube and his fingers create this indecently dirty echo of noises in the room, just under their heavy breathing.

He almost knocks Liam away when his fingers slide out. He can feel all of his nerves trying to relax while Liam clumsily rolls on the condom – because he’s nervous with shaking hands and this affectionate grin Zayn wants to hate – and a sticky hand grabs his hip.

“You can just,” Liam twists his lips between his teeth, shrugging. “Just maybe – I dunno, d’ya wanna do it yourself?”

Zayn giggles into Liam’s neck before nodding. There’s another hand squeezing his thigh in time to the _‘put your hands on my chest I’ll make you feel like you’ve been blessed’_ while Zayn blindly finds Liam’s cock.  He gives it a few amateurish strokes, lining him up.  They share a crooked smile, like a countdown, before Zayn slowly eases down onto the head.

He’s always thought he’d use words like _‘brutal’_ or _‘agonizing’_ to describe moments like this – not the shagging, but the awkward space in-between – but it’s not.

There’s an ease to it all that – like Liam – he’s not expecting. A moment with Liam’s slick fingers holding his hip, another hand cupping the nape of his neck.  The way he glides down onto Liam’s cock with thick breaths and a tenseness in his chest.

It’s so fucking _slow_ at first that he swears under his breath and Liam kisses a laugh off his lips.  He splays his hands on Liam’s chest to rock back, to ignore the pressure and the burn.  Liam rolls his hips and thrusts and it’s automatic.

It’s instant goosebumps and Liam lets Zayn ride him without fighting it. He sits back and grins and Zayn wants to be arrogant about it all, about having control over Liam but he’s too caught up in the sensation.

Liam feels incredible and thick and pulsing in ways Zayn’s never dreamt of.

The angle changes midway through, Liam cocking his hips and pressing down on his prostate when Zayn sits up straight. His fingers dig into Liam’s chest, leaving behind angry red marks.  He breathes through his teeth and swears at the ceiling while the sweat glistens like morning dew on fresh fruit down his ribs.

“Careful,” Liam teases, stroking his hip and Zayn sobs at the scratchiness in his voice. “You look like you’re having too much fun.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn smiles, flat hair in his eyes, Liam’s head pressed deep into the pillow.

He’s ready to counter, to squeeze around Liam’s cock until he’s begging but Liam fractures his speed and grips bruises into Zayn’s hips to set their pace.

It aches in the best possible way after that.

He’s thick and throbbing over Liam’s stomach as he grinds down. He tries to contain all of the needy noises in his chest but he can’t.

He _won’t_.

Liam’s just as loud, whining and deep groans. His voice slides from tenor-soft to a heavy baritone and his stomach muscles flex when he jackhammers into Zayn.  The sweat and the lube create this bass beat, this synthesized melody that Zayn can’t get out of his head.  This _‘please don’t play with my heart tonight I get a little insecure’_ in his mind.

“Is this good? C’n you get yourself off?” Liam wonders, his words slipping through his teeth.  His brow is wrinkled in concentration and he’s biting on his lip like he’s holding back.

“Faster,” Zayn squeaks, fucking back down onto Liam’s dick. “C’mon babe.”

Liam complies so quickly. He creates this pressure inside of Zayn and there’s fucking fireworks behind Zayn’s eyelids.  A spectrum of neon colors.  His hands slide down Liam’s chest and he reaches for his cock at the same time as Liam, knuckles bumping and fingers colliding.

They stroke Zayn off in this uncoordinated hurricane that takes seconds. He’s embarrassed and a little helpless but he comes like that.

With their fingers fit together around his dick and Liam crooning, “ _Oh Zayn_.”

It’s messy afterwards, with Liam still fucking up into him and his temple pressed to Liam’s collarbone. Liam’s keening in his ear, his heart thumping against his cheek.  He scrapes his fingers over the crook of Liam’s neck to calm him but Liam’s muscles go tight.

He slides an arm around the middle of Zayn’s back, thrusts deep, stutters before coming with a sharp, needy gasp.

Liam has flushed cheeks when Zayn pulls back and he giggles at him until Liam playfully punches his shoulder.

“Stop you donut,” Liam sighs, dragging Zayn down for a kiss. “I was horrible.”

Zayn snorts, shaking his head. “Pretty fucking amazing, man.  I could go for another round.”

“Already?” Liam yelps, kissing over Zayn’s sweaty forehead.

“Maybe a kip first,” Zayn smiles.

He groans when Liam carefully slides out of him, feeling so open and ready for more. For more Liam and that’s an uncomfortable feeling he never remembers having after a shag.

But this isn’t –

There’s a thumping at the door when Liam sneaks out of the bed to throw away the condom. Liam’s grumbling about the cold floor and Zayn’s crawling further into the abyss of sheets while Niall whines on the other side.

“About fucking time.”

“Piss off,” Liam laughs, hopping back into the bed with cold feet before curling around Zayn’s back.

“Told you he was noisy,” Niall shouts and Zayn bites an _‘it was my favorite part’_ into Liam’s wrist when Liam goes pink with shame.  “And you lot let me sleep through my flight, fucking wankers.  I’m spending Christmas with you Payno and Harry will be here in fifteen.  Put some clothes on ye slags!”

Liam sighs into Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn ignores it because he doesn’t quite know the definition of separation anxiety.

Not when it comes to a – well, a _Liam_?

 _His Liam_ and that term leaves him cold for a few more minutes before Liam’s turning him in the sheets for a few last kisses.

“Can I drop you by the train?” Liam asks when they’re quiet, between the sheets, fingers tangled like they can’t quite pull apart.

Zayn muses over the idea, staring up at the ceiling rather than Liam.

He shrugs at nothing. “Suppose so,” he replies instead of all of the big, heavy, unsettling words in his throat.  “If you have the time, I guess.”

Liam doesn’t answer and it takes him a few minutes to realize it’s not the response Liam wanted.

He sort of hates himself for that, among all of the other things he already hates himself for.

 

//

 

He loves home.

Their old kitchen table, the smell of warm spices, the ice sticking like a transparent scarf to the box-square of a window overlooking his mum’s tiny garden. The smell of chimney smoke, the decorations every winter, the new art piece his dad’s hung near the window.  The photo of Doniya and Waliyha last Eid, in colorful sarees with massive smiles next to the wall piece he bought his mum before leaving for university in the summer.

It heats his blood with this warmth he hasn’t found in London.

Well, he thinks, not until –

He shakes that thought away, chewing on his lip while staring out the window.

The kitchen is a cozy warmth with the scent of fresh breakfast tea and spicy stew, the sounds of his mum’s humming and Doniya dragging a wooden spoon through a large pot. He’s at the table in old, thick socks, a loose London Met sweatshirt.  He’s got one earbud in, Chris Brown drowning out the fuzzy Christmas music playing on low in the living room.  His foot keeps time with _‘when I loved you so childishly and I want it all back’_ to fill in all of the static in his mind.

“So sunshine,” his mum says while setting a steaming cuppa in front of him. She smiles gently in that way she always does, with crinkles set around her eyes – like Liam, not that he notices – before adding milk to his tea.  “When are we going to meet your new someone?”

All of his muscles tense around his bones. He barely registers the sting from the heat of the tea across his palm when he reaches for the cup.  Doniya giggles from the sink, washing off fresh herbs while his mum arches an eyebrow at him.

He hasn’t told them anything about Liam. Not a single thing.  And he’s a little ashamed but more embarrassed from the heat in his cheeks that he tries to hide behind the steam of his tea but –

“What makes you think – “

His mum giggles immediately, swatting at his hand playfully. “Oh, I dunno, sunshine,” she preens, knocking his ankle with her foot under the table, “you just seem _different_.  Distracted, maybe?  And every time I call you – “

“I’m studying,” Zayn mumbles around his tea, lowering his eyes with a scowl.

They’re not prying. Most of his family never is but they’re always so curious.  All of his cousins and his aunts and even his father when it’s just the two of them.  They want to know everything about him like he’s just come home from the war.

It should be endearing – but it feels anything but that.

“Well then,” Tricia grins, nudging his ankle again, “if there is no one new then that means I can set you up on a few more dates, yeah? I know this wonderful girl just east of London.  And your aunt says there’s this brilliant girl studying art.  Her flat is down near Knightsbridge and – “

Zayn picks at the leftover blonde in his hair, tuning her out momentarily. He chews at his lip, watching the milk swirl in his cup.

“ – and then there’s Irene. You remember her, right babe?  She went to Tongs,” Tricia continues while sipping intermediately at her tea.

“Oh, she was a twat, mum,” Doniya laughs.

“Hush it,” Tricia scolds but without the heat behind her voice. She giggles into her hand, winking at Zayn.  “She was always lovely to me.”

He looks up at her with a quiet smile, maybe something a little sadder because she’s giggling and Doniya is teasing her and this feels so much like comfort.

Almost like comfort.

“There is someone,” he says a little too abruptly with a wobbly voice. He clears his throat quickly to cover it up, sniffing.  “I’ve sort of been going about with someone.  I’ve been dating a lad.”

The kitchen goes quiet, nothing but white noise and the crackle of Christmas music and Chris Brown in his forgotten earbud and Zayn thinks it’s a mistake. It’s this awful feeling underneath his tongue, preventing him from swallowing because his mum is looking at him blankly.

Like she’s seconds from telling him to leave or like the disappointment is about to show on her face.

And it takes him a few too many seconds to adjust to the way his heart is fucking beating out of his chest before –

Tricia smiles at him. It’s not sympathetic or pitying.  It’s deep and comforting before she takes a long sip of her tea, still smiling when she lowers the cup.

“Great,” she hums and Doniya’s already giggling in the background, dragging her spoon along the pot. “When do we get to meet him?”

His next breath gets caught around his lungs, hovering. “Yeah?”

Tricia smirks, swatting at him again. “Yes, sunshine.  Now – when do I get pictures?  Is he on your phone?  I want loads of pics.”

Zayn fumbles a smile, ducks his head as a way of hiding the pink that stains so hotly over his cheeks. He doesn’t admit he has a whole collection of photos stored in his phone – of Liam sleeping, studying, eating Indian takeaway, making coffee shirtless in the kitchen – but he thinks his mum already knows.

She always does.

“Is he fit?” Doniya asks, wiping her hands on this frilly pink apron with lace edges, some vintage piece from their grandmother’s attic.

Zayn scrunches his nose, still hiding his face. He hates them in the most loving way.

“Of course he is,” Tricia cackles from across the table.

Then, when he can control the blush, she reaches over the table to fit her fingers in between his, she adds, “He’s probably lovely. Looks aren’t important, sunshine.  Happiness is.”

He’s certain it’s meant to be half-teasing but it feels wholly comforting, like all of his mum’s words have always been. It settles him and he doesn’t think about being seven years old or twelve or even sixteen afterwards.

Not until his phone vibrates in his lap and his shaky fingers swipe open a new message – _merrrryyyy xmas, you’rrrreee Leeyum or whatvr ;)_

The light from his phone shines off his sugary smile. He pinches the bridge of his nose when he hears his mum cooing from the stove, looking over her shoulder with Doniya smirking behind her.  He shakes his head, laughing under his breath but his thumb swipes out an automatic reply – _shukria xx Z_ – before hiding his phone in his pocket so he doesn’t text anything else.

He doesn’t want to be a victim of his own emotions.

His own daftness.

This inability to stop smiling when he thinks of how that little wrinkle forms between Liam’s eyebrows when he’s thinking too hard or how he’s probably biting the tip of that pink tongue with strict concentration while googling what Zayn’s text means.

He helps his mum wash out the tea mugs, kisses Doniya sloppily on her cheek and avoids every single question he can related to Liam with a shy, twisted grin tugged across his mouth.

Still, he’s sort of in love with the way Doniya and his mum keep asking, even as he walks out of the kitchen.

 

//

 

Later, when he flops down on his old twin-sized bed – with the same childish Power Rangers sheets from his childhood, the same silly love songs he wrote as a teen tacked to the walls next to the same Spider-Man posters, with the same stink of cheap cologne he wore all through high school – he sprawls onto his sheets and digs out his phone.

He’s sleepy from family visits and the feast his mum and Doniya prepared for them. He’s scrubbing at his eyes while sliding away silly notifications, yawning into his fist.

The night is a pitch black beauty with soft city noises, urban decay and holiday fairy lights shining off nearby houses into his small window. He squints his eyes at the sharp glow from his phone, all of the lights clicked off, a sweet serenade of _‘I missed your skin when you were east, you clicked your heels and wished for me’_ from his old stereo.

He grins because Louis loves this song, Niall too.

There’s a few messages from Danny, some from Ant, a drunken one from Louis – because it’s his birthday and one amongst a dozen other days he expects to be _worshipped_ , the bastard – he finds two from Liam.

A simple _‘niallerrrr says he misses u!’_ followed by one that steals half of the downpour of oxygen filling Zayn’s lungs – _shab bākhair I hoppppe I said that riiight x_.

Zayn rolls onto his stomach, buries half of his smile in a fluffy pillow with his cheeks burning. He laughs into cotton, staring at the screen until the light stings his retinas.

He wonders, with that same grin, how many hours Liam spent looking up how to say _‘goodnight’_ in Urdu.  How many hours Liam fretted over typing it out, daftly saving the draft before sending it.

Zayn wonders if this knot in his stomach will ever really go away, this spark in his chest like the center of a flame.

He tries to blink away the sleep but he can’t. There’s something restless in his bones but it refuses to shake away the exhaustion.  He bites down on his lip with drooping eyelids before sighing.  Everything about this home feels like warm comfort – everything except this bed.

This empty bed where one side is still cold and missing a strong body to warm it.

He thumbs out a quick reply and refuses to look at his phone when he sends it. He closes his eyes, giggling like a kid just before the holidays, and his heart lodges deep in his throat when he thinks about the message.

The simple _‘MY leeyum’_ he only regrets for the thirty seconds it takes him to fall asleep with a stupid grin on his face.

 

//

 

London is a snowglobe of thick, glittery flakes and tinkering holiday music and frosted air when he catches the last tube into the city on New Year’s Eve.

He already misses his family, the warmth of that old house back in Bradford, his mum’s smile and his dad’s husky laugh in his ear just before he left. But there’s some unspeakable need underneath his muscles to get back to this city.

The atmosphere is a dense frost the moment he steps off the tube. He’s wearing a scarf Waliyha and Safaa bought him at a secondhand shop and heavy boots and the last thing he expects to find when he steps onto the platform is a grinning Liam with a pink nose, an oversized jumper with a matching beanie and two cardboard cups of coffee.

“Did you miss me?” Liam teases when Zayn – _fucking arsehole_ – can’t help smiling at him.

“Not even a little,” Zayn says after his first sip of coffee – too sugary, drenched in all of Liam’s flavors – but he brushes his cold fingers over Liam’s dry knuckles to remember how they feel.

Liam hums, nods at him before sucking in his bottom lip to half his smile.

“I didn’t either,” he laughs, the noise brilliant in Zayn’s ear.

They stare at each other for a little too long, their breaths visible and foggy under the fluorescent lights. Zayn can see all of the small freckles along Liam’s nose.  He doesn’t complain when Liam nudges closer, pecks his cheek like a little reminder –

He doesn’t need one. He needs a kiss and hands gripping his hips and that soft noise Liam makes when Zayn slides his tongue in between his lips.

“Thought you were staying back in Wolverhampton until term started back up,” Zayn mentions, scooting closer.

“Thought you were staying back in Bradford for one more day,” Liam counters with a smile.

His hand slides over Zayn’s hip and _yes, right there, don’t leave_ floods his mind.

“Missed this place,” Zayn admits with a scratchy voice even though it’s been hours since he had a cigarette.

“This place,” Liam repeats, chuckling.

“Yep,” Zayn sighs, sipping hot coffee until his tongue can’t add _‘missed you a little more’_ because that’s a lie.

A horrible, awful, regrettable lie.

Or the truth.

Liam’s fingers curl on his waist and Zayn tucks a few of his into the sleeve of Liam’s jumper to trace his wrist, to warm them up.

“Lou called me and said you were coming home early,” Liam whispers with a hint of blush but the pink could be from the cold.

Zayn hopes it’s not, admittedly.

“How d’you get his number?” Zayn wonders, cocking his head sideways with a crooked grin.

“We all have our secrets,” Liam teases back and Zayn leaves it at that.

He doesn’t need to know _how_ or _when_ Liam found the time to ring up Louis, to get his number.  Instead, his heart thumps in his chest at the idea of his – well, _his Liam_ still feels appropriate, less weighty – getting on with Zayn’s mates.  Of Liam chatting with his friends without Zayn, _about_ Zayn.

“So you came back?” Zayn inquires, thumbing up Liam’s forearm.

Liam snorts, ducking his head. “Harry wanted to start the New Year up in London,” he shrugs, still looking away.  “He finds home too boring.  Plus Niall had a date or summat.  I really think he just wanted a reason to get Harry trashed so they could shag.”

“Think they will?” Zayn asks, licking the dryness from his lips.

Liam sips slowly at his coffee, grinning behind the lid. “Doubtful.  Harry is only ever interested in cock during the spring when he knows there’s no attachment required come summer.”

“That’s funny,” Zayn says, low and mischievously, leaning up to brush his lips against Liam’s pink ear, “I’m quite interested in cock, yours actually, every season.”

Liam blushes hard and nearly knocks the coffee from Zayn’s hand when he squirms to get away.

“Bastard.”

Zayn snickers, the cold filling his lungs until they sting. He wraps his fingers in Liam’s collar and tugs until they’re close again, hips bumping and foreheads almost colliding.

“I thought,” Liam starts, watching Zayn’s tongue dart across his lips with a lopsided quirk to his own mouth, “thought maybe we could grab some Chinese takeaway, head back to yours, and watch the countdown.”

Zayn bites down on his own smile, ashamed of the color his cheeks burn. “Sounds boring.”

“Very,” Liam laughs and it takes Zayn five seconds to give three fucks about all of his own rules before leaning up to kiss Liam, soft and smooth and pleasantly warm.

“I like that,” Zayn says.

He’s uncertain if he’s talking about the kiss or the idea of bringing in the New Year on his shitty university bed with Liam curled around his side, boxed Chinese food, duck sauce sticky on Liam’s lips and the rest of the world dead to them.

It’s probably the former but only because Zayn can’t admit, to himself or anyone, he wants every night to end just like that.

 

//

 

**January 2013**

 

Liam likes to sing in the shower.

It’s mostly in the morning before classes, mostly between soft scented minty soap and shampooing his hair, and it’s mostly just dumb covers of artists he likes – sweet crooning to Prince or laughable Elton John pieces, sometimes Usher but more often classic Justin Timberlake tunes.

There’s quite a few mornings where Liam runs through the Bruno Mars catalogue and Zayn finds himself, anchored in his favorite spot – perched on the edge of the sink – while sneakily listening to Liam’s half-sleep voice singing _‘I sit by myself talking to the moon, trying to get to you’_ until he’s content or too excited to bare much more.

And that’s how Zayn finds himself – dazed and so completely fond of this boy that nothing else really exists in minutes like this.

He’s helpless and too shy to admit it.

Not to Louis. Not to Harry.  Not his mum or Doniya.

Definitely not to that smug bastard Niall who always grins when Zayn escapes to the hallway with pink cheeks, flat hair hanging in his eyes, and a middle finger instead of a _good morning_ for Niall and his laughter.

But Liam’s raw voice just after sunrise is one of those subtle reminders that, just maybe, he doesn’t have to tell the world how much he fancies this manic boy with the large eyes, crooked smile, strong hands.

It’s comical, to him, because he finds himself memorizing which songs Liam loves best. He knows Liam steals his glasses sometimes to read _Incredible Hulk_ comics even if he doesn’t need them.

Zayn knows how he likes his coffee now – milk instead of cream, strong, two drops of caramel – and he knows Liam prefers earl grey tea because it reminds him of his mum.

 _Three sugars, strong_ , Zayn always thinks while preparing it before Liam’s shower ends.

He’s turned Liam onto fresh coffee instead of insta and he’s holding a hot mug in his hand, standing in the middle of that box-sized bathroom in Liam’s flat with steam all around and Liam’s voice waking him. The mirror is fogged, the cold tiles beneath his feet prickled with dew.

Zayn’s standing in old boxers and one of Liam’s wrinkled Oxfords, unbuttoned and too big on his shoulder. He’s biting down on his stupid grin while Liam’s sweet falsetto cracks halfway through _‘if you would let me start all over again’_ and he can’t help the laugh that bubbles past his lips.

“No fair,” Liam yelps behind the transparent curtain, groaning, and Zayn watches the shadowy outline of a hand sliding down to circle a half-hard dick.

“Morning,” Zayn says with a yawn, blowing the steam from the cup.

“Asshole,” Liam laughs, one quick stroke before leaving his dick twitching. “Good morning.”

It feels odd – this little space in a tiny flat – the way he refuses to fight his smile or the way he hops from foot to foot because the tiles are still icy, even with the steam. The way he always wants to strip off and join Liam in the shower but not during the week when they have classes –

But on a lazy Sunday morning, when they’re both still too sleepy and trade off slow kisses under the showerhead, Zayn makes sure to suck Liam off to make up for the days missed.

“You’ve got chemistry this morning,” Zayn tells him offhandedly, sniffing at his coffee – still too sweet.

“I know,” Liam moans, gargling hot water and spitting it at the wall. “You remembered?”

Zayn blushes at that, ducking his head even though Liam can’t really see him.

It’s just another little memento between them that Zayn’s oddly ashamed and proud of at the same time.

“Are you going to skip your tutorial group this evening to cuddle with me? Niall promises a marathon of the Bourne films,” Liam offers and Zayn can almost see his shy grin behind the curtain.

He snorts, shaking his head. They both know Zayn only watches those films because Liam adores them and, quietly, Zayn adores watching Liam’s face under the pale glow of the telly.

“Possibly,” Zayn smirks, rocking on his heels. “If you’ll help me with my art assignment.”

Liam moans and it almost sounds _obscene_ but Zayn thinks he’s just horny and the way Liam left him trembling and his hole wet from just his tongue last night still sets his skin on fire.

“You know I’m tragic at art,” Liam hums.

He _is_ but that doesn’t stop Zayn from giggling at Liam’s determined face every time he tries to help Zayn sketch.

“Only if you order veggie pizza,” Zayn compromises, taking a quiet sip at Liam’s coffee.

It’s unsettling – the way he doesn’t make a face at the taste anymore because he’s used to it, accustomed to the way it tastes on Liam’s tongue when they’re kissing too long before classes.

This boy is an addiction, like caffeine and nicotine and Zayn should’ve seen this coming since he’s been unable to quit either one of those since the age of sixteen.

“Seems fair,” Liam shrugs behind the curtain, soaping up again. “Don’t need meat on my pizza when I can just blow you off later on.”

Zayn makes an indescribable noise that’s half a yelp and partly a moan that echoes off the cheap tiling on the walls.

“Twat,” he mutters and Liam starts up again with _‘give me another chance to write you another song and take back those things I’ve done’_ even softer now.

“It’s your birthday this weekend,” Liam says between verses and steam, stretching long under the showerhead. “Nialler keeps asking about it.  Wants to get out.  Thinking teriyaki chicken and sake and that one club with the glass floors.”

Zayn takes another small sip of the coffee to alert his senses, to burn off the _‘I just want to spend the day in your bed listening to you breathe’_ because that’s sounds like a sixteen year old version of himself.

A horribly poetic side of himself.

“My family is coming into town,” he says instead of lines from Socrates he’s memorized through high school. Liam goes quiet and Zayn’s muscles freeze, toes wiggling over the chilled tiles.

“Mum and dad want to take me to dinner. Nice family restaurant.  They don’t get out of Bradford much,” he adds with a shrug, pressing a hip to the sink.  He’s watching the coffee go warm in the mug, the swirl of milk.

“Sounds nice,” Liam says absently, scrubbing fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes, biting his lip. “I sort of fancy quiet birthdays, anyway.”

“Of course you would,” Liam giggles and it doesn’t sound mean or condescending. It sounds vaguely sweet, this curl of affection in Liam’s throat that makes Zayn blush.

He wonders how obvious he’s always been to Liam.

“But they’re all coming up. Me parents and even me sisters.  A few of my aunts and cousins.  It’s gonna be,” Zayn pauses.  He feels like his head is in the clouds and he’s on the verge of _something_.  “It’s gonna be mental.”

“You’ll love every second of it,” Liam says in this sure voice that curves around Zayn’s spine.

He’s the calm and Zayn is the tidal wave. It’s the cause and the effect.  Complete bullshit taken from some trashy romance novel.

But Zayn feels calmer in those quiet seconds.

He’s not really thinking and he wants to blame the coffee but he takes a deep breath of steam before he says, “Do you think – do you wanna, dunno, come with me? Tag along or summat?”

Liam warbles out of tune and they both gasp because – _fuck off Malik, did you really just_ –

Liam peeks his head out of the curtain with shampoo pulling his hair up into a small quiff. It’s longer now and Zayn blames himself because, one evening, he might’ve suggested to Liam that he wants to know what it would be like to pull on Liam’s hair like Liam does to his.

He swallows around a noise before Liam asks, “You want me to – is that an invitation, Malik?”

Zayn gnaws harshly on his bottom lip, flicking his eyes to the shitty bathroom ceiling because he can’t look at Liam with his cheeks this fucking _pink_.

“Maybe,” he replies after an exhale. “I mean, my mum is always asking about you.  My sisters too.  They’re all sort of curious about this lad I’ve been dating – “

“About a _boyfriend_ , maybe?” Liam teases and Zayn considers tossing Liam’s coffee down the drain in spite but he doesn’t.

He smiles crookedly and nods.

“ _So_ ,” Liam says like Niall does when he’s on the verge of something illegal, “I’d like be there?  With your family?”

Zayn sighs, still smiling. “My entire, inquisitive, incredibly talkative family,” he huffs but he’s unable to disfigure his grin with his teeth this time.  “Sounds horrible, mate.  Shitty food, an awful cake, loads of questions about your future plans in life.”

“And me next to you?”

Zayn laughs, steals another sip of coffee before offering Liam some.

“Sure,” he replies, licking at his own smile. “Right next to you.  With my – “

Zayn takes a long swallow while Liam arches an eyebrow before Zayn blurts, “Boyfriend.”

Liam nods along, snorting. He curves a finger at Zayn like _come closer_ and Zayn’s so fucking _obedient_ that it’s pathetic.  He scoots across the tiles, leans in just enough and nearly gets shampoo in his eyes when Liam kisses him.

“Sounds brilliant,” Liam says into his mouth, shoving the words in with a tongue and an appreciative moan when Zayn sucks slowly on it.

After his shower, the coffee goes cold, nearly untouched, on the toilet lid with Zayn in his favorite spot while Liam hums around the tiny bathroom with just a towel around his waist.

Zayn keeps admiring all of the water droplets, like morning dew stuck to a green leaf, sliding down tanned muscles and pooling around Liam’s collarbones. He’s peeking around Zayn to look in the smeared mirror – it’s a combination of their hands wiping away the mist and stupid hearts with their initials in them that Liam draws in while brushing his teeth – with his hands pining Zayn’s hips down.

“I can move,” Zayn offers with a laugh, burying his face in the crook of Liam’s neck to inhale minty body wash.

“Don’t,” Liam laughs, thumbing under the waistband of Zayn’s boxers. “Just sit still.”

“Can’t,” Zayn huffs, water catching on his eyelashes when he moves to Liam’s throat. “Class in thirty.”

“Skip it,” Liam suggests but they both know Zayn won’t.

He never does.

He’s got something to accomplish, something to prove. Something to show the world, his family.

A reason to smile at himself in the mirror.

“Stop teasing me,” Zayn groans when Liam’s fingers crawl across his bare hip.

“Can’t,” Liam giggles back with his nose in Zayn’s messy hair. “But I can’t afford to be tardy for my class either.”

“So fuck off,” Zayn teases but his knees bracket Liam’s waist and he cranes his neck to kiss along Liam’s jaw.

He likes the tickle of Liam’s barely-there stubble and the way Liam’s mouth always curves into something erotic when Zayn licks over his birthmark.

“Lemme up,” he sighs, pushing at Liam’s hip.

“Can’t,” Liam says, softer, deeper, helpless because he’s rocking his hips forward and tugging at Zayn’s boxers. His fingers trace around the dark heart on Zayn’s stomach.  “Wanna get you off.”

Zayn groans with a smile and his hips flex automatically to help Liam strip off the boxers. They hang around his ankles and Liam fits his hands around Zayn’s thighs to drag them apart.

He’s already hard, leaking over his belly while Liam drags his teeth across Zayn’s neck. It’s a sharp sting that Zayn groans at, fingers toying with the loose towel around Liam’s hips.

“We’ll be late,” Zayn mumbles, kissing at Liam’s temple, slouching to give Liam more room.

“My prof’ will understand,” Liam grins, pinching one of Zayn’s nipples. “After all, this is purely science, right?  Sort of like chemistry.”

“Biology,” Zayn corrects him.

“Anatomy,” Liam whispers over Zayn’s collarbone, licking out the shapes of all of the ink there.

Zayn moans and his hips rock towards Liam’s absent touches. His cock is curving, throbbing and Liam blindly tugs off his towel.  He strokes himself once, letting his cock hang between his thighs and Zayn shivers at the sight of the pink head peeking from behind the foreskin.

“Too small in here,” Zayn complains, even with Liam’s dry lips along his stomach.

There’s not enough room between them, the wall, the sink, the fucking tub but Liam arches his spine beautifully and fits his head between Zayn’s thighs without much strain.

“We’ll make it work,” Liam says in this sure, scratchy voice that distracts Zayn long enough that he misses Liam’s pink lips wrapping loosely around the head.

His fist cracks against the mirror and his spare hand slides smoothly over Liam’s spine. He tests the strain of all of the muscles in Liam’s shoulders, the tendons between his shoulder blades.  Liam swallows around him, covers his teeth and fucking slips his tongue on the underside until Zayn chokes out an embarrassingly teenaged noise –

Like fisting his cock for the first time on his wrinkled sheets, too young to hold off his orgasm but feeling like a newborn star afterwards.

“C’mon babe,” Liam says in this completely unnecessarily desperate voice when he pulls off. He sucks around the head, flicking his tongue all over until it’s soaked with saliva.  “Gotta be quick, right?”

Zayn moans into his fist, nodding but he doesn’t follow along. His hips stutter when Liam swallows him down again and he doesn’t understand what Liam’s _implying_ until his jaw goes slack, thick fingers leaving behind Zayn’s thigh in favor of pulling on his own dick and –

 _Oh fuck_.

Liam’s still, waiting, swallowing and slurping before Zayn slowly complies. It’s a gentle thrust at first, not nearly deep enough.  Liam complains with a moan, eyelashes fluttering on his cheek before Zayn strains to hit the back of Liam’s throat and then –

Fucking hell.

Liam gets anxious, moaning and breathing hard through his nose. His cheeks hollow while Zayn fucks into his mouth.  It’s sloppy and noisy – Liam’s tongue and his throat gagging a few times before he groans – and Zayn can’t keep his eyes on the delighted look on Liam’s face.

He can’t watch Liam wank off to Zayn thrusting into his mouth or the way his hand pulls roughly on his cock.

He simply can’t focus when Liam keeps making these needy noises, muffled begging every time Zayn’s thrusts are too shallow.

“Fuck you taste good,” Liam gasps, tonguing over the crown. He takes Zayn in again, trembling around the head before moaning, “You smell like a fucking – _fuck_ , it’s so addictive, babe.  Like when you haven’t showered just yet but you taste so fucking sweet.  I just can’t – “

Zayn groans and shoves his cock back between Liam’s lips because the words, the fucking drag of Liam’s voice makes him want to shoot off.

And how Liam just _takes it_ , spit sliding down his chin and with swollen lips.

It’s probably the way Zayn can see the shine on Liam’s fingers from his precome and the way he hums around the shaft when the head is in his throat that makes Zayn smack his head on the mirror.

His lungs give out and his fingers slide into Liam’s hair – just long enough for a grip and just enough pressure for Liam to groan – to hold him there before he comes. He throbs on Liam’s tongue and flutters his eyes open to watch Liam swallow.

He smiles goofily while Liam sucks around the sensitive head and trembles through his own orgasm, coating his fingers in this blinding white that contrasts with his honey-colored skin.

“Alright?” Zayn asks when Liam kisses up his stomach, wipes the come from his hand over Zayn’s thigh.

Liam nods, breathless. He nips at Zayn’s jaw for a moment like he’s trying to recover.

Like it was impossibly better for Liam than it was for Zayn.

He’s in too fucking deep with this boy.

Liam clears his throat and Zayn tastes his own come on Liam’s tongue when he drags Liam forward for a kiss.

“Brilliant,” Liam laughs against his lips, brushing their noses together. “And probably late for my class.”

Zayn smirks, batting his eyes closed. “Sorry.”

“Worth it.”

There’s a pounding against the door and a laugh pressed to his mouth when Liam kisses him again.

“C’mon you fucking wankers,” Niall moans on the other side, kicking at the door. “I need to take a leak and I really don’t feel like stepping in Zayn’s come again.”

“Don’t worry,” Liam grins and Zayn rolls his eyes when Liam adds, “I swallowed.”

“Gross,” Niall shouts, still rapping his knuckles on the door. “And sort of fucking hot.  Get it on film next time, mate.”

“Such a prick,” Liam laughs into Zayn’s neck and Zayn’s late for his morning class anyway.

He doesn’t seem to mind it when it means he can share coffee with Liam, watch him dress, and kiss idly in the doorway because they can’t quite move away from each other.

But that’s the part he still hasn’t adjusted to, even if he does it without thinking most days now.

 

//

 

**March 2013**

 

“ _Zayn_.”

“I’m fine,” Zayn grumbles, perched on the end of Liam’s bed with one sock on, one sock off and the dark hardwoods beneath his feet.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Liam says while in the bathroom mirror, tugging product into his hair to make it stand a little stiffer.

He’s got loose jeans on his hips, charcoal smears from Zayn’s fingers across the denim on his thighs. His skin is still a little pink from a shower, his jaw clean from a shave, and he keeps giving Zayn these tiny smiles to encourage him but –

Zayn groans, shaking his head.

“M’not nervous.”

“So why haven’t you gotten dressed?” Liam laughs. Zayn watches the way his eyes crinkle in the reflection and – _fuck_ this was a stupid idea.

He doesn’t quite remember when or why he agreed to it.

“Got nothing to wear,” Zayn mumbles, almost fucking his own hair with his fingers but Liam makes a noise in the mirror and Zayn squeezes the sheets instead.

“Half of your university room is in my bedroom now,” Liam teases.

It’s true. Most of his jeans, his joggers, half of his shirts – that Liam _steals_ and stretches them out when he sleeps in them, the right bastard – and a handful of his comics.  His glasses sit on the nightstand every evening, his coffee mug next to Liam’s in the kitchen.  His worst textbooks prop up Liam’s collection of snapbacks and he has his very own toothbrush in the bathroom – _their_ bathroom.

Liam has even created a clean, small spot near the window with a beautifully crafted rug – all gold-trimmed and peacock blue and jasmine – for Zayn to pray.

And maybe that’s where all of this went terribly wrong – or _incredibly right_.

Still, he doesn’t think he can do this.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, even with his hands shaking in his lap. “Just need a minute.”

“You’ve been there an _hour_ ,” Liam huffs but he’s smiling in the mirror.  “I can blow you if it’ll relax you?  Or I can eat you out if it’ll – “

“ _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn groans, throwing a hand over his eyes while his auxiliary one squeezes softly at his crotch.  He can hear Liam’s teasing laugh and he just wants to crawl under the sheets, hide away from the world.

Instead, his shaking hands fiddle with the cuffs of his button-up again and his feet kick back and forth until he can breathe regularly.

“Hey,” Liam says patiently, stumbling into the bedroom and kneeling between Zayn’s legs. He fixes the buttons and straightens Zayn’s sleeves with a grin, something bright in his eyes.  “S’okay, babe.  It’s just my family.”

Zayn grunts and frowns. “That’s it.”

Liam wrinkles his brow, picking at the hem of Zayn’s shirt. “Is that a problem?”

 _Yes_.  “No,” he whispers, still looking down at anything but Liam’s face.  “It’s just – they won’t like me.  I’m _different_.  I’m not take-home material, dude.  I’m – “

“You’re not shit at this,” Liam swears because Zayn’s said it enough times, in the dark when he’s feeling vulnerable and Liam’s being so fucking _brave_ for them both.

“I am.”

Liam drags his nose under the collar of his shirt, right along his neck and squeezes his hips until Zayn tries to writhe away.

“Was it like this – for you?” Zayn wonders when Liam pulls back, biting softly on his lip while looking at Zayn. “Y’know, when you met my family?”

Liam grins, shrugging. “Sort of.  I was really nervous and didn’t wanna tell you but not because I thought they’d hate me.  Mostly because I wanted them to know how much I think of you.  How I hope they approved of you dating a silly bloke like me’self.”

Zayn snorts and maybe that’s it – the nerves, that itching feeling under his skin.

Because Zayn is a first for Liam.

A first kiss from a lad, a first shag with a boy, a first _‘this is my boyfriend’_ and that’s so unbearably overwhelming that Zayn has to wipe the sweat from his palms over his acid wash jeans.

“They won’t like me,” Zayn sighs, pressing his forehead against Liam’s.

“Not if you’re all broody and what’s the word you and Niall fancy using?”

Zayn grins. “Pensive.”

“Yeah, that too,” Liam smirks. “But if you’re _just Zayn_.”

“Your Zayn,” he whispers between breaths and it’s so natural the way his skin glows hot and Liam kisses him without thinking.

“Now come on,” Liam snickers, punching Zayn’s shoulder. “My family is only in town for the night.  They rarely get to London and I want to show ‘em a good time.  I wanna show you off, pensive and all.”

Zayn groans but smiles and lets Liam twist their fingers together. Liam tugs him from the bed and they laugh when they collide, nearly stumbling off their feet while straining for another kiss.

“You’re making a mistake,” Zayn teases him while helping Liam fix his own Oxford.

Liam blushes hard and punches him again without hesitating. “Probably so.  Should’ve just left you to cry in your coffee that day that bird left you hanging.”

“Probably so,” Zayn grins but it’s all one big fucking lie.

They both know it, even if they don’t say it. Even if Zayn clasps their hands and refuses to let go all the way down to the cab.

But Liam kisses him halfway between the ride into the city and during traffic just so Zayn knows it too.

 

//

 

It’s just some tiny, cozy dinner just outside of the heart of London when Zayn meets Liam’s family.

His mum tugs Zayn into her arms, immediately, like they’re having some sort of reunion after decades apart. She giggles into his collar and strokes his back and all of the jumbled nerves in Zayn’s system reorganize until he’s _calm_ –

She reminds him of Liam and he can’t help smiling against her temple at that thought alone.

“He’s quite gorgeous in person,” Nicola teases and Ruth hugs him next, freefalling into him in a way that makes him feel welcomed.

“Of course, he is,” Karen tuts, smacking at Nicola’s shoulder with her purse. “He’s dating my precious little lion.  And looks aren’t everything, Nic.”

Nicola shrugs and Zayn hides his smile on Liam’s shoulder because –

She reminds him of his own mum and that feeling is a little too overwhelming for his already racing heart.

“I dunno how you put up with this one,” Ruth jokes, clinging to Liam with a smile that bunches her eyes – like Liam, _Christ_ – before adding, “but bless you.  He seems so much more at peace.”

“It’s the sex,” Nicola laughs and Zayn restrains his own giggle when Karen smacks her shoulder.

“Don’t be rude,” Karen huffs.

It’s Zayn’s turn to gather courage because Liam twists their fingers together with a shaky hand and a palm full of sweat. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide, old Dusty Springfield buzzing in the background, and Zayn thinks about kissing him until he’s composed but –

Karen snaps off a picture of the two of them with her phone and Liam’s sisters gush while his father watches carefully from behind.

Zayn feels insecure, admittedly, but he tries to stand tall and protective next to Liam because –

_this feels right_

– he knows Liam needs that.

An hour later, over coffee and slices of blueberry pie, Liam’s dad drags Zayn closer and shows off all of Liam’s baby photos, his X-Factor audition on his phone with a huge grin.

Liam makes an embarrassed noise, blushing, but Zayn smirks and lets Geoff slide a heavy arm around his shoulders.

“He always makes me so proud,” Geoff sighs, sounding incredibly fulfilled and quietly nostalgic, before whispering, “And I’ve never been prouder of my boy than when he said he was happy with another lad. That he was _himself_ for once.”

Zayn bites down on his lip, watching Liam from the corner of his vision, and his heart swells three-times larger when Liam whispers, “I almost shit myself when your baba said I’m the kind of bloke he’d want around for his beta.”

Everything falls out of focus from there, all of the chatter and the noise of the diner and Liam’s thumping heart next to him, but he drags on this high while Karen clicks off more pictures to show her friends back in Wolverhampton and Liam’s sisters gush over his cheekbones.

He squeezes Liam’s hand under the table, shocks himself by ordering Liam’s coffee – strong, caramel, milk instead of cream – without thinking when the waitress comes by.

“Oh, this one,” Ruth swoons, swatting at Zayn’s hand on the table.

“He’s a keeper, yeah?” Nicola adds.

“Shut it girls,” Karen giggles, folding into Geoff’s side. “You’re embarrassing.”

“Says the woman who has pictures of her son, in a bathtub with a rubber ducky, in her phone,” Ruth laughs.

“Not half as bad of the picture of him dressed as Woody,” Nicola sighs, wrinkling her nose with a snicker.

“ _Three_ Halloweens in a row,” Geoff adds, grinning.  “Batman too for _four_ Halloweens.”

Liam groans and sneaks a kiss to Zayn’s cheek when the world isn’t watching and Zayn forgets to breathe.

He forgets that he’s shit at this and silly things like _meeting the parents_ are just preamble for a disaster, not a lifetime of happiness.

Zayn leans in to Liam, steals his coffee, and whispers a quick _‘is it okay to be this happy?’_ that he doesn’t wait for a response for.

He merely slouches in the booth and watches all of them repeat affectionate stories of Christmas vacations from years ago, trying to remind himself it’s not supposed to be this natural to _fit_ into something like this.

 

//

 

**April 2013**

 

Just outside of Liam’s bedroom window, London is hazy and grey and insanely quiet in the early afternoon.

In fact, it’s the quietest Zayn can remember this city ever being – with a slow shuffle of traffic, a soft rumble of thunder, the constant plunking raindrops in the gutters like a drum, the stereo in the corner of the room on low.

He’s got open notebooks and highlighters and a crumpled essay by his feet and thick textbooks surrounding him. The white noise from the telly mixes sweetly with the croon of something vaguely familiar, something like _‘keep your hands to yourself when you follow me home’_ in the background.

Zayn chews on his bottom lip, the room nothing but greys and blacks and slanted whites from the heavy sky. There’s a cold cup of coffee on the nightstand and a Liam wrapped loosely around him – his head in Zayn’s lap, his arms curled around Zayn’s waist, his legs twined around one of Zayn’s.  His fingers keep stuttering in Liam’s damp hair, along his scalp and it’s a warm feeling he can quite shake.

He smiles down at Liam, briefly, at the pink of his nose and the softness of his skin. He’s breathing quietly, eyelashes fluttering along his cheeks.

Zayn thinks of earlier, when Liam stomped into the flat, soaked from the rain and grumpy from that one economics course he _dreads_ every Tuesday.  Niall made him coffee and Zayn shoved him into the shower and Liam crawled into bed with this childish frown just so Zayn would make room for him to cuddle up.

Liam’s like that – a sullen puppy looking for affection.

A boy with big dreams.

The kind of _almost_ Zayn’s been good at avoiding for most of his life.

Liam snuffles closer in his sleep, squeezing tighter around Zayn’s waist. He exhales a deep breath when Zayn’s fingers still behind his ear.  His face relaxes when Zayn strokes over the crown of his head, his hair thick and cut into a mini-mohawk that Zayn finds himself desperate for when they’re in the shower or when Liam’s bent over the edge of the bed, Zayn fucking into him with a handful of soft hair.

His teeth bite too sharply at his lip and Zayn looks away so quickly.

He sighs, pressing against the headboard while watching the rain streak down the window. His hand keeps moving – tracing a cheek, over Liam’s forehead, back into his hair – absently because suddenly this is _comfort_.

This is _home_.

This isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

He thinks of the way his father looks at his mum. In the quietest moments, when no one is looking, in the shadows.  The way his hand always finds hers when something massive happens.  His arm curled around her small shoulders when Zayn graduates.  His lips brushing her temple when Safaa performs in a talent show.  His eyes on her when the music is soft, pulling her into his arms for a dance because they’re still so fucking _in love_ it’s impossible to hide.

Zayn grins, teeth catching a corner of his bottom lip. Liam’s toes brush along his calf in the shadows and he keeps repeating _‘I don’t want love, I don’t want love’_ until it freezes the ache under his chest.

He looks down at Liam again, his thumb outlining Liam’s ruddy lips. The stubble pricks his fingertips but he lightens his touch when Liam stirs to keep him quiet.

There’s an in-between where his breaths aren’t so loud and all Zayn hears is _‘I should have built better walls or slept in my clothes’_ in his head.

Liam’s sister looks at her fiancé like this. He’s seen it, a few weeks ago when Liam drug Zayn to the center of the city for a Valentine’s Day dinner.  Some sort of _‘couples night’_ that left Zayn uncomfortable and awkward.  Some clever restaurant with low lighting, candles, an extensive menu, and cheap wine.

And Ruth stared across the table at her fiancé with this subtle smile, with pink cheeks every time he smiled back, with this glow like Zayn could see her heart through her dress.

Zayn’s not that lovestruck.

In fact, he’s not in love at all. He _can’t_ be.  That kind of sentiment is dressed up in expensive dates and casual conversations over fancy food and thinking of the same person for hours without interruption.

It’s his mum and dad or Ruth and her fiancé or fucking Shakespearian tragedies with star-crossed lovers and death being the only outcome.

He’s so far from that when it comes to Liam that –

He can’t stop _thinking_ about Liam, even when he tries.

Liam yawns and stretches, pressing his face to Zayn’s bare stomach to breathe out warm exhales before he grumbles out, “Get down here.”

Zayn doesn’t argue, not when Liam’s strong hands drag him further down the bed. They kick away the textbooks and Zayn laughs into the hollow of Liam’s throat when he curls strong arms around Zayn’s chest.

“Stop thinking,” Liam tells him, sleepily but it’s like he knows.

It’s like he always knows and Zayn tenses at that.

“But – “

“Shut it,” Liam hums, kissing his forehead before clicking on _the Amazing Spider-Man_.  “Wanna sleep and you need rest.  Plan to have you ride me later on while I’m studying.”

Zayn blurts out a noise that Liam giggles at but they sneak out of the rest of their clothes without talking and press their bodies together under the sheets.

Liam kisses along his shoulder during the opening credits and Zayn’s heart patters so loudly that he doesn’t even hear Peter Parker’s monologue.

He hears a quiet _‘I don’t want love’_ before Liam brushes his lips over Zayn’s temple and then he thinks –

Maybe that’s what this really is.

It’s unfortunate, he thinks, that Liam falls asleep before he can say it. Not that he had the courage to in the first place.

 

//

 

**May 2013**

 

He wishes he could say it was a fight or harsh words or some errant form of infidelity.

He wants it to be something that involves screaming and shattered glass and a single _‘I wasted so much of my fucking time on you it’s pathetic’_ but it’s not.

It’s just – _not_.

Their breakup is quiet and thoughtless and expected.

Zayn is stressed because of his course load, because he can’t find enough time to study and he doesn’t understand a _single fucking word_ that John Keats wrote or how it relates to his degree.  Liam is grumpy around exam time and their evenings are spent apart, in libraries or quiet corners or in unknown coffee shops for the caffeine fix rather than the nostalgic meaning behind them.

There’s no time for sleep or sex and maybe that’s half of why Zayn ignores most of Liam’s texts late April.

Maybe it’s why Liam doesn’t call as much or why Zayn feels like a zombie, like an insomniac every time he spots Niall on campus.

He can’t name it or _put a proverbial finger on it_ but he knows it before it comes – the silence.

The calm kiss they share over breakfast one morning like they’re okay, they’re happy –

Like they’re not three seconds from falling apart without enough glue to repair it all.

So Liam does it because Zayn is too fucking _weak_ to.  He breaks up with Zayn late one night, when Zayn’s no longer sleeping over in Liam’s bed and when the quiet on the phone is unbearable.

And Zayn refuses to fight Liam on it. He merely whispers an _‘okay’_ and an _‘I’ve got to study some more but maybe we can talk soon.’_ He ignores the slight hitch in Liam’s voice, the whimper just before he hides his phone beneath his pillow.

The battery dies and he doesn’t bother to charge it for three whole days.

He doesn’t actually cry until his mum calls, on a Saturday, and asks about her _‘favorite son that isn’t quite mine.’_

And he’s fine, okay?

He’s coping like a mature adult and scrubbing away the tears when he hears a song on the radio that he thinks Liam would love. His hands have stopped shaking.  He takes his coffee black and watches _Iron Man_ a dozen times and he’s perfectly fine.

Except, he really fucking misses him, alright?

He just – _he misses Liam_.

Two weeks later, when he’s focused on nothing but British Literature and draft papers and every aspect of his existence but his love life, Harry finds him after the fireball of a sun starts to sink and the sky is a spacious pink and purple.

He’s perched on the library steps with a pile of books, his glasses sitting crookedly, and a cup of coffee by his feet –

it’s spiked with caramel and milk instead of cream and strong and a hint of _pathetic_ at the bottom

– when Harry sits next to him.

Harry smiles at him, knocks their shoulders, brushes a hand across the nape of Zayn’s neck before clearing his throat. Zayn bites down on his lip, strays his eyes to Harry’s skintight jeans, his stupid hipster hat and sighs.

“I came for a visit,” Harry says when the sky is a little darker but pretty like spun cotton candy colors.

Zayn hums, tearing his lip raw with his teeth. His shoulders tighten when Harry’s arm curls around them.  “Looking for Liam?” he asks quietly because his voice is always a little disabled now when he says Liam’s name.

“Found him,” Harry grins, dragging his boots over the cement steps. “Curled up like a fifteen year old in bed ‘cause he got stood up to the school dance.”

Zayn winces and doesn’t look at Harry because _he can’t_.

But his hands start that shake again and it takes three deep breaths before he can stop it.

“I’m sorry – “

“None of that from you,” Harry demands with that same cheeky smile he always wears.

Zayn goes quiet, blinking down at his hands again before the trembles start back up.

Harry laughs sweetly into his ear, fixing Zayn’s glasses on his nose, stealing a textbook from his lap.

“Listen,” Harry sighs, his voice so deep and scratchy and secure, “there’s a reason I’ve turned down that little Irish shit Niall _sixteen times_ , okay?  I’m not in anything for a quick shag – though I’m certain he’d be a magnificent fuck.  He’s bloody fit and I’ve heard quite a few girls around town say he’s magical in bed – “

“Harry,” Zayn groans, shutting his eyes and he instinctively drags a _‘shut it’_ over Harry’s shoulder.

He hasn’t quite figured it out yet, especially since Harry isn’t around half as much as Niall, but Harry feels like a brother.

Like more than an extension of Liam.

“That’s fair,” Harry huffs with a grin. “But I’m not interested in the cheap thrill, alright?  Usually, yes, but not with him.  And I think it’s your fault.  Completely.”

Zayn pulls back, cocks an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry shrugs, turning a few pages in the book, tracing his fingers along the words. “It’s mostly because I didn’t expect you to stick it out with Payno.  Not this long,” he admits, lowly.  “You did though and I sort of fell in love with this idiotic definition of love you two have.”

Zayn blinks at him and shreds his bottom lip with his teeth. His heart fists at his chest while the sky spins from pink to deep blue to a dense purple above them.

“He’s madly in love with you, mate,” Harry adds, leaning back on the steps. He eyes a few passing girls in their jean shorts, loose tops, messy hair with a smirk.  Zayn nudges him and Harry cackles before saying, “He’s terrified to tell you, though.  Figures you have plans for your life that don’t quite include him.  He’s an idiot like that ‘cause even a blind bloke could see how head over fucking Converse you are for that pup.”

Zayn scoffs and pinches Harry’s nipple in retaliation. Harry moans like cheesy porn and Zayn blushes when a dozen set of eyes fall on them.  He kicks at Harry’s ankle before burying a soft groan into Harry’s artfully unbuttoned shirt.

“M’not that bad,” Zayn grumbles.

Harry laughs into his hair but his broad hand strokes down Zayn’s back in comfort.

“Yes, you are,” Harry argues with their knees pressed together. “But that’s pretty ace, man.  Like that’s fucking sick that you can be this independent being and still be so tied to another person.  Still so in love that you’re not really functioning but you kind of are.”

“You make absolutely no sense, Styles.”

“Really? I’ve been told I’m this generation’s Plato by a few hundred of my Twitter followers,” Harry replies with this lazy smile that Zayn admires.

“That’s because half of them are stoned out of their fucking brains,” Zayn laughs into Harry’s neck. “Or they just want to fuck your brains out.”

Harry hums happily while wide green eyes look at the strong stretch of the clouds over the sky. “I prefer a good handjob, actually,” he yawns, blinking at the fading sun.  “I save all of my shagging for my Tumblr followers.”

“You’re so mental, bro.”

“And you love me for it,” Harry chimes. “Maybe not as much as Leeymo though, yeah?”

Zayn doesn’t respond but he doesn’t argue with Harry either. He merely smiles to himself and anchors his hip to Harry’s for a little longer.

 

//

 

They walk around Hyde Park until dusk settles heavy over the sky.

The late spring heat warms their skin and Harry munches through a bag of kettle corn while they compare tattoo stories. Harry maps out all of his favorites and the reasoning behind them – none of it makes sense, sort of the way Louis’ don’t and Zayn realizes that saying about _‘we all have one of them’_ is so accurate when he thinks of Harry and Louis – while Zayn bruises his lip and smiles.

Harry squeezes his shoulder with a grin halfway back to campus. “Mate,” he says fondly with earthy green eyes and a smoky voice even though he’s never touched a cigarette, “it’s alright.  It’s okay to tell him even if you two don’t fix this.  Just so he knows.”

Zayn nods and maybe Harry is a bit poetic with his words but Zayn will never tell him.

Instead, he drags his feet back towards campus. He shoves his hands into his jeans and keeps his head low because he’s defenseless now that he’s alone.  He’s a heap of nerves and unresolved emotions so he cuts a left towards his favorite coffee shop – and it’s not because of Katarina or that boy with the buzz cut or that one day he’ll never forget – and orders up a cup with a bag of fresh donuts.

He walks away from his university room and towards a familiar destination without a second thought.

Niall greets him at the door with bedhair and bright eyes and a long hug.

“How did you know it was – “

“Harry called,” Niall mumbles into his hair and _of course you bastard Styles_ crosses his mind for half a second before Niall squeezes tighter.

“M’sorry, man,” he says while Niall sniffs at his shirt.

“Mate,” he says with a thick accent but the same affection Harry used, “if ye ever go away again, I swear to slice your dick clean off. Don’t test me, bro.  I’ve read up ‘bout it.  I c’n do it.”

Zayn laughs into his shoulder and shoves him away when Niall presses a messy kiss to his temple. He startles at Niall’s hand smacking his bum and drops his books on the kitchen counter.  He toes off his shoes and treads quietly down the hall, shouldering open Liam’s door.

The open window lets in a draft that makes the curtains dance and streaks the too dark room with crisp blues. All of the shadows create little drawings across the walls and floors.  There’s not quite enough lighting to view anything but Zayn has been here enough times that he could find Liam’s coffee mug or his old jumper or their collection of comic books blindly.

There’s a small thump from the stereo over Liam’s soft, stuttered breathing while Zayn navigates towards the bed. The soft _‘we’ve been on for a minute no more feeling alone'_ tickles in the dark while Zayn crawls onto the bed.

The street lamps outside shine a fuzzy glow over Liam’s face. He’s curled around himself, one of Zayn’s X-Men shirts wrinkled by a loose fist and Liam’s nose in the collar.

It’s a little distracting – and incredibly sincere – but Zayn calms himself enough to brush the back of his fingers over Liam’s cheek until he shifts along the sheets.

He flinches before he startles awake with tears already in his eyes, a ragged breath like he’s dreaming – no, like a _nightmare_.  He rolls onto his back, using his knuckles to scrub the shine from his eyes before he stares up at Zayn.

“Hey,” Zayn whispers. He hesitates while Liam chews his bottom lip before he finally sinks down onto the bed next to him.

Liam swallows, still blinking like his eyes haven’t adjusted – or to stop the tears.

“Hi,” he replies, nervous and three seconds from fond. “I was just – “

Zayn shakes his head, smiling. He scoots closer and drags his hand all over Liam’s warm skin to remind himself of how soft it is in the dark.  His fingers find Liam’s bicep, an echo of _‘and the night got me thinking, thinking about lying in bed in the dark in the warm and we’re naked,’_ and he can barely see Liam frowning under the shadows.

“You look pensive,” he teases breathily and his heart races all the way up his throat when Liam smiles, laughs quietly and pushes towards Zayn’s touch.

“Shut up.”

Zayn shrugs, thumbing down along the ink on the underside of Liam’s forearm.

“Brooding,” Liam exhales, shifting closer.

“Thoughtful,” Zayn says softly, attaching his smile to Liam’s shoulder. “Reflective.”

“I missed – “

Liam pauses, the words caught on his tongue and Zayn thinks of inserting _‘hoping that we fall in love’_ because it’s on the stereo and in the back of his mind.

Instead, he curves a hand around the nape of Liam’s neck until he crawls into the gap between them. He waits until Liam presses his mouth to Zayn’s throat, mumbling nonsense.  His skin is damp with tears and he kisses into Liam’s hair until they both stop shaking.

“We can fix this,” he swears even when he knows he shouldn’t make promises.

Liam nods, sobs quietly.

“I’ve missed – “

Zayn quiets him with a strong hand down his spine. The breathy _‘you’_ he hears in the background makes him stumble.

He’s an absolute idiot for this boy and the fucking history books will never let him live down this tragedy, he’s certain.

So instead of accepting his fate, he challenges the odds. He tugs his fingers through Liam’s hair until all of the heavy breathing subsides and tugs gently with a whispered, “Hey.”

Liam looks up with shiny eyes and a wrinkled smile. There’s a vulnerable tilt to his lips that Zayn wants to kiss away but _man up Malik because otherwise you’ll regret it_ sticks to his head before –

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers, inching down to shove their foreheads together. “Pathetically in love with you, mate.  Do you know what that means?”

Liam’s smile widens and the sharp red lines around his eyes aren’t as prominent as the brown swallowing his pupils.

“It means you’re wrecking all I stand for, man,” Zayn stammers, grinning like mad at that awestruck look Liam’s wearing. “Or it just means I love you, _Leeyum_.”

Liam sighs and his chapped lips feel so familiar when they kiss. It’s slow, methodical, patient like the first tide in the morning.

“I like that.”

Zayn laughs against his mouth and doesn’t feel the need to say anything else.

For once, he thinks he’s said just enough.

 

//

 

**September 2013**

 

“We’ve been talking about getting a flat together.”

Louis shoots him a shocked look with a stolen Marlboro hanging from between his lips.

They’re on a rooftop on campus, leaning over the ledge while huffing through cigarettes. The air is still warm with crisp autumn leaves and the last breath of summer.  Someone’s dorm room window is open and that one Taylor Swift tune he sort of likes spills into the atmosphere while they huddle closer against the breeze.

“Fuck off,” Louis laughs, the noise accompanied by a cloud of smoke.

Zayn shrugs, chewing his lip, dragging his thumb under it before taking a drag.

“Serious?”

Zayn smirks, looking away. He exhales a ring of smoke, shoving up the sleeves of his leather jacket.  His mind is half-caught on the _‘and you throw your head back laughing like a little kid’_ when he turns back to Louis.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

Louis squints at him. His ugly, oversized jumper floods all the way over his knuckles and his skinny jeans have holes in the knees – one day, he’ll have to take Louis and Harry for coffee and a meet-and-greet – with bare ankles and Vans he keeps scuffing on the rooftop.

“Are you sure?” he wonders through the smoke, waving it away quickly.

Zayn swallows before pressing his elbows on the ledge. He looks down at the passing students, at the slow beat of London beneath them.  The idea doesn’t tighten his muscles like it used to and his next few breaths feel easy.

Nothing has ever been _easy_ except this thing with Liam, most days.

He shrugs again, lips twitching into a defenseless, crooked grin. “Liam’s sort of always been there,” he explains after another short drag.  “And I dunno – maybe this summer changed my mind?  Like, he was there all through Ramadan, man.  He sat iftar with me after every sunset.  He went a _month_ without sex – “

“Malik,” Louis groans, sucking down another breath of hot smoke, “there’s some things about your life I don’t want to know. Like sex.  And Liam.  In that order.”

Zayn elbows him, grinning. “I listen to all of your shagging stories.”

“They’re not stories,” Louis smirks, blowing smoke out of the side of his lips. “They’re religious experiences.  They’ve been known to cure illness.  My cock is – “

Zayn punches his shoulder and they grin together against the breeze.

They go quiet against the _‘I think it’s strange that you think I’m funny cause he never did’_ below before inhaling together.  Zayn breathes the smoke out of his nose while Louis practices silly cloud patterns with his mouth.

“He came back to Bradford with me for Eid,” he says softly, under his breath, looking down at his knuckles. “That’s huge, man.  My mum still talks about it.”

Louis nudges their shoulders together with a smile. “Impressive.”

And it’s the one word Zayn uses least when it comes to Liam. The one he thinks should be inked all over Liam’s chest, just above his heart, because it’s what he is.

“A place of your own. Just you two,” Louis whispers, still sounding shocked.

Zayn nods slowly, watching the way their hands gravitate towards each other.

“Sounds so bothersome,” Louis teases. His pinky links with Zayn’s over the ledge.  “Who will I bother for hours because I hate this new student-teaching program I signed up for?”

Zayn snorts before knocking the ash off his cigarette. “Niall has been dating someone.  A pretty girl.  She’s studying music comp or summat,” he says, leaning towards Louis.  The smoke soaks his lungs in the quiet.  “It might be serious.”

Louis laughs, the clouds of smoke chasing the noise. “Not when it comes to Horan.”

Zayn shrugs and they share the same smile for a moment. They mouth along to _‘but on a Wednesday, in a café, I watched it begin again’_ before laughing.

It’s brief and the rush seeps out of his lungs when Louis’ face goes serious.

“I thought you never wanted any of this,” Louis whispers, watching their fingers instead of Zayn’s eyes.

Zayn looks off to the city again. It’s grey out and it’s still looks the same.  It still looks foreign but a little like home.

“I _don’t_ ,” he admits with a stretched voice.  “No fairy tale bullshit.  No marriage or kids.”

Louis smirks under the cover of smoke. “He’d make a lovely father, though.”

Zayn groans and pinches the bridge of his nose but he doesn’t disagree. He also doesn’t tell Louis how he thinks of that sometimes – _Liam as a father_.  As a husband.  As a _forever-and-a-day_ because it’s way too saccharine and he’s way too cynical for that.

Still, he feels light years from that sixteen year old with a broken heart and a notebook filled with silly poems.

“Would it be horrible?” Zayn wonders, out loud but to no one in particular.

“You being married?” Louis inquires with a raised brow. Zayn winces before Louis adds, “Or you sharing a flat with loverboy?”

Zayn rolls his eyes immediately, chuckling with smoke in his throat. “The latter.”

“Nope,” Louis grins, chucking the last of his cigarette over the ledge. “To both of those, babe.  Wouldn’t be horrible at all.”

 

//

 

**November 2013**

 

They luck out and find a spacious loft east of the city in mid-October.

Their realtor – some arrogant dark-haired woman who has a soft spot for Liam’s laugh and _flirts_ with Zayn even though he holds Liam’s hand tightly at every viewing – drags them to look at this minimalist space with floor to ceiling windows and white stone walls and renovated floors on a Thursday.  It belongs to some aging socialite who is desperate to get rid of the place – something about a breakup with a _twenty-something male model_ or con artist – so they bargain on the rent and move in on a Sunday.

They spend the first week sitting on the floor by the empty fireplace, sharing Chinese takeaway by candlelight and sleeping on Liam’s old mattress without the bedframe.

Zayn lets Liam pick out the color scheme while he paints. They’re both still in awe of the bathroom – with the huge shower and wall-length mirror and _space_ , so much space – and it takes them a month before they can afford decent furniture.

Liam takes up an internship in his spare time – between classes and studying and _Zayn_ – that pays solidly while Zayn spends his late afternoons ghostwriting assignments for over-privileged uni kids and solid fees.  It’s enough for them to live off of and Zayn uses his scholarship funds to cover the rest.

He feels completely out of his element and quietly _happy_ and on the edge again.

Because of Wonder Woman and Irene and Talia.

And because he’s fucking _arse over tit_ for this boy and this life he is unprepared for.

Liam comes home late when the sun is touching down with a bag of Thai takeaway and long, messy kisses and this should be a complete disaster.

Except Liam is uncompromising when he kisses the blush on Zayn’s cheek after he calls him _‘khubsurat’_ and Zayn is insatiable at the sight of Liam in a partial suit.  His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, there’s a coffee stain on the hem, dark trousers still neatly pressed, a loose hanging tie with the first few buttons of his shirt undone.

He’s so incredibly _beautiful_ that Zayn shoves him against a wall and slides his tongue between Liam’s lips to distract him from the way their hips naturally grind together.

“Oh _meri jaan_ ,” Zayn moans against Liam’s mouth.  His breath hitches quickly while his cheeks burn.

Liam’s cock an eyebrow at him with strong hands holding Zayn’s waist. “What was that?”

“Nevermind,” Zayn says quickly, rolling his hips while his mouth pushes away the collar to lick at Liam’s throat. “S’nothing.”

“But you looked like – “

“D’you wanna talk about it or get your cock out babe?” Zayn huffs because he’s nervous and embarrassed and Liam’s so fucking inquisitive, even when they’re panting and desperate against a bare white wall.

“Both,” Liam laughs with fingers in Zayn’s hair. He tugs him back up for a rough kiss, hitching his hips so Zayn can feel his erection through the expensive material.  “Can’t we multitask?”

“Can’t,” Zayn grunts, pulling at the zip and tearing off Liam’s belt. “I’d prefer have my mouth full.”

Liam groans obscenely and they stumble towards the dining area rather than the bedroom because ‘ _it’s too far Li and my hand has been fucking about on my dick for hours’_ so Liam caves when they bump into the glass table.

They strip off most of their clothes while still kissing. It’s clumsy and silly but Zayn likes the way Liam laughs into his mouth and the bruises the table makes along his thighs.  He kicks out of his pants while forcing Liam to stay in his unbuttoned Oxford, stealing the tie before dropping down into a chair.  He’s still wearing his glasses and a paint stained shirt when Liam waddles around the flat for lube.

“Babe, condom?” he calls out over his shoulder.

Zayn slouches in the chair, legs spread, eyes dark, teeth biting gently at his swollen lip.

“ _Li_ ,” he says in a raspy voice and Liam straightens immediately halfway across the room.  A lazy hand pulls at Zayn’s dick and he rolls his shoulders when Liam turns.  “Come ride me, babe.”

Liam gasps, squeezing the bottle of lube too tightly and Zayn’s fingers slick the head of his cock with the precome it spits out. He bites on his grin while Liam pads over the cold hardwood floor with a dumb grin and anxious eyes.

His hands roam over Zayn’s broad shoulders while he opens Liam up with shiny fingers. Liam uses his tongue effectively – across his teeth, over the roof of his mouth, swiping his bottom lip – but he can’t quite sit still.  He grinds back on Zayn’s fingers, winces when Zayn goes deep, makes these breathy noises and whines whenever Zayn pulls out to add more lube.

“Be patient.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Liam pouts, gasping when Zayn adds three fingers instead of two.  “Fucking want it.”

“Yeah?”

Liam nods quickly, leans down for a few more hot kisses. Zayn traces the rim of his hole with a thumb and gets a bite to his bottom lip in response.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Zayn laughs but he fights back with a hard shove of fingers that brush against nerves. Liam shouts and trembles so Zayn coats his throat in kisses until he calms.  “I know the feeling.”

“You do?” Liam wonders but he sounds smug, rocking his hips in Zayn’s lap.

“You know I do, you twat.”

Liam giggles and kisses along Zayn’s hairline. He groans softly while Zayn takes his time, stretching Liam around his fingers and sinking deep in this white hot heat like this is enough.

Like he wants to get Liam off with his fingers rather than his tongue or his cock.

He thinks that’s so far from romantic and _intimate_ but they’ve never needed any of that.

Liam protests when Zayn teases a fourth finger. He kisses Zayn clumsily and gasps when Zayn’s fingers retreat.  He’s clenching at nothing, panting against Zayn’s bruised lips before Zayn smears the lube around the rim.  He squirms in Zayn’s lap while Zayn leaves a pretty mark under his collarbone, teasing his hole and waiting until Liam’s keening and desperate.

“Fuck,” Liam grunts, swirling his hips until he finds two fingers to slide onto. “You’re gonna make me come.”

“Not yet,” Zayn promises under his jaw. He twists his fingers and tenses with Liam when he brushes his prostate.  “But tell me if you’re about to, okay?  Want it to be on my cock first, babe.”

“’kay,” Liam whimpers.

“Promise?”

Liam nods quickly and works his hips in an uncoordinated rhythm over Zayn’s fingers. He bites his lip viciously with taut shoulders straining against the fabric of his shirt.  The white cotton stretches around all of his flexing muscles while his hands drag through Zayn’s hair.

“Here,” Zayn offers, pulling his fingers free – despite Liam’s annoyed groan – before finding Liam’s tie.

Liam flashes him a worried look that he ignores instantly. He brushes a few soft kisses to Liam’s lips and gathers Liam’s wrists together.  He ties a loose knot around them, something stable enough to keep them fastened before lifting Liam’s arms up.

“Stay still for me, _jaan_ ,” Zayn whispers, motioning for Liam to move his arms.

Liam loops them around Zayn’s neck, struggling against the tie for a moment. “What does that mean?” he asks while Zayn slicks up his prick.

“Don’t worry about – “

“Zayn,” Liam says sternly but behind his eyes, he looks nervous and caged in.

“Life,” Zayn replies quietly, palming Liam’s hip until he’s in position. “Like _you’re my life_.  Just that.”

Liam’s eyelashes flutter quickly and Zayn uses that moment to brush back Liam’s foreskin and swipe the head of his cock against that clenching hole before sinking in.

“Fuck,” Liam groans, shaking.

Zayn grins against Liam’s mouth, kissing away the noises. He peeks down at Liam’s curved cock against his belly, hard and wet.  It draws a breath from his chest and that vice around his cock feels incredible.  It’s so good that he whimpers while kissing down Liam’s neck and their next breath together catches them by surprise.

Liam’s hips move suggestively with just the head of Zayn’s dick sitting inside of him. He’s cursing lowly, sweat crawling over his skin and staining his button down.  His muscle struggle against the tie so Zayn pinches his hip.

“Just stay like that,” Zayn offers after a kiss. “Just lemme – let me be in control, okay?”

Liam nods quickly, gnawing at his lip. His eyes are blown and his breath is uncontrollable like this.  He looks so close already that Zayn shoves up into him until he’s halfway on Zayn’s cock, pulsing and leaking over his belly.

“Shit, Zayn.”

Zayn smirks, smug and arrogant when Liam looks down at him.

“Good?”

Liam nods again, devoid of words. Just hot breaths.

His kisses taste like coffee with milk and he smells like ink and sweat. It’s that musk beneath the morning cologne that Zayn loves best.

“M’good. Come on, Zayn, ‘m so good,” Liam gasps, trying to slide lower but Zayn’s gripping his hip, leaving behind little marks.  “I can take it.”

Zayn smiles against his chest, shifting his hips. “Know you can.  But what if I want you to wait?”

“Cruel fucker,” Liam laughs and half-moans when Zayn draws his hips back. “Come on.”

Zayn closes his eyes with his nose pressed to Liam’s chest. He’s losing concentration at the way Liam clenches around him.  At the heat and the stretch and all of the quiet noises Liam makes above him.  His heart picks up just a little before he spreads his legs for a better positioning.

“Alright,” he exhales, nudging up until he’s deep in Liam. “C’mon.”

“Yeah?”

Zayn snorts at that, slides a lube-sticky hand under his shirt to trace up his spine. “Yeah, babe.”

Liam groans, twisting in Zayn’s arms before finally lifting up and quickly falling back down with a huff. He repeats it over and over, building a rhythm, until all of his breaths come out achy and loud.

His head spins a little at the feeling of Liam all around him – stretching for his cock, wrists locked behind Zayn’s head, his larger taut body in Zayn’s lap. He cranes his neck to kiss Liam but that only lasts seconds before Liam starts to work himself up, grinding down on Zayn with shaking thighs.

“Oh _Christ_ ,” Liam moans, tipping his head back.  It’s too slow in the beginning but it builds in a way that Zayn loves.  “So fucking full.  Man, feels so good.  You’re huge – “

“Compliments,” Zayn says with a laugh and his kisses smothered on Liam’s jaw, “aren’t necessary right now. Just fuck yourself on my dick, Li.”

Liam complies with a bashful look on his face, lifting and sliding down so quickly.

There’s enough lube that is slick and easy. Still, it takes Liam a few uneven breaths to stretch properly around Zayn.  Zayn takes that opportunity to bite all of the places he loves on Liam – over his nipple, his collarbone, nosing back the shirt to pinch his teeth over a rib – before canting his hips up.

He grips Liam’s hip carefully to slow him because he’s so close. Liam’s squeezing around his cock and quietly begging for more with pink staining his cheeks.  He’s tugging against the tie around his wrists but so _helpless_ that he mewls instead of protesting.

“Doing so good for me, babe,” Zayn whispers, tonguing over fresh love bites.

Liam groans, nodding. He shifts his hips to get Zayn deep.  His own hips involuntarily thrust up, pressing his cock against Liam’s prostate for a long minute.

“Oh God,” Liam gasps, rocking down. “Don’t make me nut off.”

Zayn laughs into the crook of Liam’s neck. “Can you handle a little more?”

Liam nods again and he fucking _shows_ Zayn he can.  He works himself over Zayn’s cock so quickly, squeezing and flexing and getting louder with his gasps.  He’s amateur porn with real moans and a pinched face when Zayn moves at the wrong angle and unscripted when he whispers _‘please keep going’_ between kisses.

“Always so tight,” Zayn heaves, fucking up when Liam goes stiff. “So brand new.”

Liam’s flushed with embarrassment. His eyes flutter closed while he swirls his hips.  His cock is shiny with precome, the foreskin hugging the head.  It looks so thick like it could make Zayn’s jaw sore from sucking him off.  Like he could flood Zayn’s mouth when he comes.

It makes Zayn fuck just a little harder at the thought.

Liam garbles a moan, head still tossed back because it’s all too much. Zayn can see it in his slack jaw, his nervy smile, his beating eyelashes.

He can _feel_ Liam getting close before he can tell.  He’s curling around Zayn, breathing into his neck, tightening around his cock every few thrusts, rubbing his leaking dick incessantly over Zayn’s belly.

“Fuck me,” Liam begs, soft and eager.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Zayn grins but he complies happily.

He thrusts up, right on Liam’s prostate, and watches him fall apart while trying to hold on. He kisses Liam’s birthmark while peeking down.  He gasps at the first splash of come along his stomach, up his chest.  He flutters his mouth towards Liam’s when Liam gets loud, groaning hoarsely while squeezing around Zayn.

“S’okay,” Zayn promises with Liam’s come dribbling down his side. He kisses Liam until he’s composed, still fucking the last of an orgasm out of him.

“Come in me,” Liam whimpers, smiling along Zayn’s mouth. “Wanna feel it.”

“Filthy mouth,” Zayn moans before burying himself into Liam for a few rabbit thrusts that help him finally get off. His stomach muscles tighten, shifting the come about, and his fingers scratch down Liam’s back while he kisses him and comes wet inside of him.

Liam gasps, makes these gentle happy noises and squeezes around Zayn’s sensitive cock until it’s too much.

“The food’s gone cold,” Liam says into his mouth when they’re calm and sweaty.

Zayn giggles but kisses back rather than complaining.

“Leftover pizza from last night in the fridge,” Zayn offers around long kisses.

“Still got that beer Lou brought for the housewarming,” Liam says with wiggling eyebrows.

“We can watch _First Class_ after a shower,” Zayn agrees, patting Liam’s bum until he carefully lifts off of Zayn’s softening cock.  “Then you can tell me about your day.”

“It was horrible,” Liam groans, stretching slowly before flinching when his muscles try to reorganize themselves. He brushes Zayn’s hair out of his eyes before fitting his fingers between Zayn’s.  “I’d rather hear about your classes.”

Zayn smiles before dragging Liam towards the bathroom.

He’s almost certain this is the kind of love that kept him up at night when he was younger. The kind he knows will end horribly when he’s least expecting it.

The kind that makes him bite his lip in the dark, hours after Liam’s asleep on his shoulder, until he realizes maybe Liam’s just as scared as him.

 

//

 

**December 2013**

 

It’s a week after exams and the city is layered in snow when they decide to spend their holiday break in London to save money.

They tangle their fingers together on the sofa, with bare feet brushing and their hearts in their throats, to ring their parents together. Zayn can hear Karen’s scowl from Liam’s end of the phone and his own mum is practically _sobbing_ for ten minutes through the speakerphone.  He cuddles under Liam’s arm, laughing into his neck when Geoff threatens to _ground Liam for three months_ before Liam – quietly, the devious bastard – suggests they all come up for a visit.

So four days before Christmas, their roomy loft is crowded with both of their families.

“Absolutely mental idea,” Harry tells them, from Holmes Chapel and over the phone, when Zayn rings him up between gift wrapping and chats over tea.

“It’s Liam’s fault,” Zayn grumbles with Liam laughing in the background.

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” Harry concedes, his smile heard through the phone.

“It is!” Liam shouts and Zayn punches his shoulder with a grin.

“Kiss the in-laws for me,” Harry teases.

All of Zayn’s limbs freeze and his muscles stiffen at the suggestion before Liam’s hugging him from behind, hooking his chin over Zayn’s shoulder. He’s smiling into the crook of Zayn’s neck and he really should be so much more relaxed while surrounded by Liam but it sticks to his mind.

_‘Kiss the in-laws.’_

As in a future and a _lifetime together_ and Liam’s last name attached to his on some stupid document.

His next breath hitches deep in his chest before Liam shoots him a concerned look.

“Alright?”

Zayn bites his lip in the mirror of the bathroom. He _glares_ at their hands folded together over his stomach, fingers laced, thumbs brushing under the hem of his Henley and – yeah, he is okay.

He’s fucking brilliant.

His lips smack a loud kiss to Liam’s cheek before he laughs out, “You’re, like, really happy, aren’t you man?”

Liam’s cheeks glow a ruddy hue in the reflection. He hides his face in the nape of Zayn’s neck but Zayn can feel the impression from his grin on his skin.

“Me family is here. Your family is here,” he mumbles, squeezing around Zayn, “and I’m with you.  It’s like a fucking Christmas film gone horrible or something.  I love it.”

Zayn snorts and uses his spare hand to tug through Liam’s hair. “Quit dicking about and help me get the decorations out, you knob.”

 

//

 

His mum cooks enough to feed the entire Royal Fleet while Karen bakes sticky fig pudding to accompany the coffee – and he hides his embarrassed smile when he adds the milk while Karen adds the caramel to Liam’s cup – while Nicola helps Waliyha and Safaa decorate the tree.

“It’s so adorable,” Karen coos with an arm around Tricia.

“Their first tree,” she swoons while Zayn groans into his fist.

It’s a shit tree – some last minute thing with falling needles, flimsy limbs, barely Waliyha’s height – but it’s _theirs_.

He smiles at that, snuggled between a pair of laughing sisters. Doniya teases him while Ruth ruffles all of his hair out of place until he’s red-faced and in need of a cigarette.

Liam watches from across the room, cuddled into an ugly red jumper with snowflakes and reindeer on it. He’s got a lazy smile on his lips, sipping slowly at his coffee while their dads chat about football just over the holiday music.  He keeps rocking on his heels, sucking on his bottom lip, looking anxious.  He’s biting his thumbnail, grinning when his mum flips on _Toy Story 2_ while Nicola lifts Safaa up to put a trashy star at the top of the tree and –

Zayn stares at Liam like he’s the one thing lighting up the room.

It’s acutely stupid and unlike him until he realizes – no, _this is him_.

This is that warm feeling every morning when Liam kisses him awake and those long showers before class and the meaning of _‘home sweet home’_ he often attached to Bradford.

Not London.

Not this unplanned life with Liam.

“He’s quite the goofball,” Ruth whispers to the side of him.

Doniya giggles over his shoulder, squeezing an arm around his waist. “He’s perfect, love.”

Zayn doesn’t agree, not out loud, but he buries his smirk in his coffee and looks away before Liam’s eyes can catch his own.

“Look at my son,” Geoff says, saluting a mug of hot chocolate to the room and he sounds half-drunk on something else and Zayn expects to find his eyes on Liam in a corner of the room but –

Geoff grins at Zayn with an arm tugged around Yaser. He’s shaking his mug towards Zayn, laughing, and all of the air trying to get to Zayn’s lungs circles around his chest.  He freezes up for a long breath, scrunching his nose before he cautiously raises his own cup.

“He’s quite smitten, that one,” Geoff adds. “My boy has always been quite unlucky in love – “

“Oh Geoff,” Karen admonishes with a smack to his arm.

“ – until now,” Geoff sighs, eyes crinkling and mouth widening into an affectionate smile. “Thanks, mate.”

Zayn ducks his head with an amused look on his face. He swallows a mouthful of coffee to burn off that awkward feeling when most of the eyes in the room fall on him.  His fingers scramble through his hair, the way he did as a kid when he hated having attention on him, before his vision goes out of focus to find Liam.

Standing in the corner, staring intensely at him, chewing his bottom lip like he’s thinking too hard.

Zayn gives him a blank look that Liam laughs at and its hours before he even considers asking Liam about that look.

The loft is quiet except for the roar from the fireplace after dark.

They give up the master and spare bedroom for their parents to spread out on the main room floor, in a fortress of duvets and pillows, with their sisters. He’s watching the fire flick orangey patterns across the bare walls and losing himself on the euphoric sounds of soft breathing when Liam crawls into the crook of his arm to wrap strong arms around his midsection.

His eyes flutter shut when Liam’s smile presses to the hollow of his neck, laughing to himself, before he hears, “This is nice.”

Zayn hums a reply. Liam’s bare feet are cold beneath the duvet from sneaking into the kitchen for an extra portion of fig pudding and a glass of warm milk.  He ignores the ache below his ankles – and the one in his chest – to card fingers through Liam’s hair.

“I sort of want this, one day,” Liam admits in a husky voice. It’s quiet and shy but still there in the dark.

“This?”

“A family,” Liam giggles but all of his muscles go tight next to Zayn. “Of my own, I mean.  Always sort of wanted it.  I reckon it’s crossed my mind tons when I was younger but – “

He lets the words die off and Zayn instinctively arches an eyebrow with his eyes closed. His hand shifts directions on Liam’s scalp until Liam presses closer.

“M’sure my mum would love grandchildren. Me dad too.  A house back home and, I dunno, a proper marriage.  Silly shit,” Liam gushes, his voice going quieter the more he talks.

Zayn turns a little until his stubble scratches Liam’s forehead and his lips touch Liam’s hairline.

“And you’ve been thinking about this?”

“No,” Liam says roughly but Zayn tilts his head down to watch the blush spread like wildfire. “Alright, sometimes.  Just when I’m – whenever I’m around them.”

Zayn nods, shutting his eyes again. His fingers twist around Liam’s hair but he stays quiet.

“Do you ever contemplate it?”

Zayn grins and presses a dry kiss to Liam’s forehead for using the word in the right context. He gives a halfhearted shrug, keeping his eyes closed.

“Sometimes,” he whispers.

“Sometimes,” Liam repeats like a question but more like an unsteady echo.

His arms tighten encouragingly around Zayn’s sternum until he sighs. “It crosses my mind.  My mum brings it up sometimes,” he admits.  “It’s just talk, right?  I’m young, y’know?  I’ve got time.  I’ve got – “

He thinks he hears Liam, under the crackle of the fire, whisper a sad _‘me’_ and he doesn’t mean to sound arrogant.  He doesn’t mean to take it for granted.  He knows there’s absolutely no guarantee when it comes to things like this.  He knows Liam could pack up his stuff, flip Zayn off, end this perfect little _in-between_ without a thought.

He knows because he’s been expecting it since that first coffee, that first kiss, that first soft _‘I’m in love with you’_ that took every muscle in his wiry frame to create.

“But I’d like that,” he mumbles with a scrunched nose, trying to restrain his smile before he quickly adds, “one day.”

“One day,” Liam echoes and Zayn can hear the smile; he can _feel_ it along his neck.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. He turns to watch the flickering orange on the walls again, trying to maintain the unreasonable thump of his heart.  He can hear the crackle of the fire in one ear, Liam humming softly in the other and it almost lulls him to sleep.

But then, when Liam cuddles closer, he can’t get it out of his mind.

The _‘one day’_ and _‘I’d like that’_ and _‘I sort of want this’_ until Liam runs the arch of his foot over Zayn’s ankle.

“This is nice,” Liam mumbles, an affectionate laugh tickling the shell of Zayn’s ear.

He wishes it was a lie but the truth is – _this_ is _nice_.

 

//

 

**January 2014**

 

It’s a week before his birthday and he hasn’t quite got that idea – the _‘one day’_ that turns into an _‘I’d like that’_ and suddenly, all of the time, it’s an _‘I want this’_ whenever he watches Liam dress in the morning – out of his head yet.

But he’s gotten spectacular at avoiding it. He shoves it down, smiles goofily at Liam whenever he catches Zayn blushing like it’s nothing, pretends that all of this is normal.

Well, normal for anyone not named Zayn Malik, of course.

He’s walking shoulder to shoulder with Louis through Soho towards Berwick Street with Styrofoam cups of Starbucks tea between their cold hands. Dirty snow crunches under their boots while their smoky breath blows the steam off the cups.  Zayn can’t help grinning at the way Louis keeps humming off songs from Les Mis every few steps with a pink nose, a fluffy scarf wrapped around his throat and all of his shaggy hair stuffed beneath a ratty beanie.

His shoulder brushes Louis’ every other step like a reminder because Louis looks like he’s fucking _floating_.

“Had a good holiday with,” Zayn pauses, biting his lips.

“Eleanor,” Louis huffs, trying to sound annoyed but his cheeks are pink from blush rather than the cold.

“I know her name,” Zayn teases, elbowing him. “Just wanted to make sure you remember.”

Louis twists his lips, flicking up an eyebrow at him. “She’s only the same bird I’ve been dating for the past three years.”

“Shagging,” Zayn corrects him with a laugh he hides in his scalding tea. “Dating requires some form of, like, _commitment_.  Shit like that.”

Louis snorts, nodding. “I commit.”

Zayn rolls his eyes instantly, nudging him with another elbow. “Weekend sex-fests to de-stress yourself from student-teaching doesn’t count.”

“Orgasms take commitment,” Louis argues with a scrunched brow. “It takes a massive amount of work.”

“Doubt it,” Zayn shrugs, sniffing at his tea while the frosty air wraps around them.

“Whatever,” Louis grumbles, turning his eyes towards the shops and the leftover Christmas decorations still hanging from the street signs. “It’s easier when it’s just two blokes getting off.  No real effort.”

Zayn wants to argue and give a detailed recap of the _hour_ -long blowjob session he and Liam exchanged under the sheets three days ago but he sips his tea instead.  He’s not interested in seeing Louis vomit across the salted sidewalks at the moment.

“How’s that thing with Horan and Styles going? They fuck yet?” Louis wonders after a beat.

“Nope,” Zayn laughs, brushing his fringe from his eyes. He rubs cold fingertips over his chapped lips for a moment.  “Probably never gonna happen.  But I think Nialler is trying to shag his sister.”

“Gross,” Louis says with a wrinkled nose. “But she’s hot.”

Zayn nearly burns his tongue on the tea, shoving at Louis with a crooked smirk. “Remember El?”

“Remember that lad I got off with during summer break? I’m open to alternatives,” Louis reminds him and Zayn doesn’t have the energy to define commitment for Louis this early in the afternoon.

“Incredible,” he laughs instead, watching spare flakes of snow dance down from grey skies.

“We can’t all be _practically married_ like you.”

“M’not – “

“Fucking bullshit,” Louis cackles with foggy breath. He elbows Zayn’s ribs and Zayn retaliates with a fist to his shoulder.  “I get it, okay?  You don’t want to say it but you can’t lie, man.  It’s partially true.”

It’s not. It’s so far from the fucking truth that it’s the complete definition of dishonesty.

He’s not – well, he _can’t_.  He’s not ready to think about.

Even though he does, constantly, during his weakest moments and when Liam is vulnerable and when they’re in bed on lazy Sundays.

But it’s just not true, okay?

He frowns into his tea. Snowflakes catch on his eyelashes while he looks over old record shops, thrift stores where he can find a cheap leather jacket.

“You’re brooding.”

“Fuck off,” he groans with a mouthful of tea. “Just fuck right off.”

They pass through the street market at a lazy stride while the cold pinks their ears. He lets Louis tangle fingers into his hair without pushing back.

“Are you quite finished?” Louis teases under his breath, smiling smugly. Zayn shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else.

“You think,” Zayn stammers, bearing down on his nervous lip with his teeth, “like, we’re really like that?”

Louis shrugs unenthusiastically. “I s’ppose.  I try not to think about you and Payno.  Unless I really need to get off and can’t find any cheap lad on lad porn on my Wi-Fi.  I bet you two shag brilliantly, with your lovely cheekbones and all of his muscles.”

“Sick bastard,” Zayn snorts, nudging him away.

“He’s got blowjob lips, that one,” Louis continues and Zayn knows he’s just offering a distraction.

It’s the best part about Louis. He can tell when you’re so far in your head that everything else seems dramatic.  It seems overwhelming.  He’s only half-serious most of the time but it’s the best part of him.  That side that helps Zayn forget that the world is a huge, scary place sometimes.

That love is suffocating most of the time.

“It’s not the worst thing, you know,” Louis says when the only noise between them is the snow under their feet. He shrugs again.  “The way you two are.  I mean you’d have to be absolute shit to actually hate being in love like that.  A complete prick.”

Zayn’s face scrunches up with he laughs and he hates how Louis is – most of the time – right.

They pass an antique shop with grandfather clocks and old-fashioned watches in the display window and Zayn can’t help but stop. He thinks of Liam so quickly.  There’s a few rings next to the watches that he glares at when Louis cuddles up behind him.  He watches his mouth twitch in the reflection, sliding so easily into a smile that Louis gasps while squeezing his shoulder.

“You sick little shit. You’re quite serious, aren’t you?”

Zayn looks down to avoid viewing the ugly blush that probably ruins his cheeks in the window.

There’s a few old men’s rings that remind him of his grandfather and he can’t take his eyes away, not even when Louis laughs.

“Maybe we could – “

“Of course, love,” Louis says patiently, already hooking their arms to drag him towards the door. “What the heart wants – “

“Shut it,” Zayn hisses, his brow wrinkling but his smile is still there in the reflection.

“Alright. But one thing before we go in,” Louis begs, tossing their empty cups into a nearby bin.

Zayn lifts an eyebrow and that telling, devious grin on Louis lips makes him regret everything.

“Now be honest,” Louis says low and slow, squeezing Zayn’s arm, “does he make you swallow or does he come all over those perfect cheekbones before he says he loves you?”

 

//

 

He doesn’t stop thinking about it – not even now.

It’s like some sort of high, being this arse over tit about Liam, that his mind won’t stop repeating _‘you’re quite serious, aren’t you?’_ in Louis’ pitchy voice.  It ignites the heat in his core and surges the adrenaline through his blood.

He’s got bruised lips pressing hard kisses along Liam’s bare chest with Liam’s spine shoved against the cold steel of the refrigerator and his fingers wrapped loosely around his cock. Liam’s hand – the one not already in his hair, fingers on his scalp for balance – keeps rubbing encouragingly at his shoulder while his jeans are bunched around his thighs.  Their breaths are an echo of _‘yes, please, yes’_ in harmony along the walls but all Zayn can hear is –

_‘will you marry me?’_

– even though he hasn’t worked up the nerve to bother asking Liam.

But it’s on his mind, in this haunting voice shaped like Louis’, until he’s fractured and desperate just to hear Liam moan.

“So wet,” Zayn whispers with a smirk, teeth catching on a nipple. “Always so wet, babe.”

His fingers are sticky from the precome that’s gathered in pools around the slit, Liam’s foreskin peeled back enough that it rests right under the head.

Liam groans in this broken noise that scratches all down Zayn’s spine. His fingers press into the ink of the fantail and Zayn’s inconsolable.

He’s fucking head over stupid combat boots for this boy.

“Thinking about blowing you,” Zayn mutters, circling his thumb all around the slippery head.

“ _Zayn_.”

“Just to taste you before you come,” Zayn adds, huskier. His breath sticks to the back of his throat like condensation on the windowpane.  “S’always sort of salty.  Bitter?  Except when you have that bowl of fruit in the morning and – “

“Shut up,” Liam hisses, hips hitching and almost knocking Zayn away. He looks apologetic with big, dark eyes when Zayn glances up.  “I mean – “

“Look at you,” Zayn grins, surging up for a messy kiss that’s all openmouthed with tongues. “You look like you want to fuck me up, babe.  Get on my knees and let you fuck my throat.”

“Zayn,” Liam pleads, his hips out of rhythm when he tries to rock into Zayn’s palm.

“Say it.”

Liam shakes his head, laughing or _moaning_ – Zayn can’t tell – while tugging at the longer bits of Zayn’s hair.

“You’re naughty,” he hums, scrunching his nose.

Zayn snorts before biting all along Liam’s neck – he can’t leave the marks he wants because Liam has to look _professional_ and smart in a suit so he sucks a sharp, dark mark just below Liam’s clavicle in revenge.

“Fuck, mate,” he heaves with glossy fingers catching the gleam of the moon in the background, “you just get so slick. It’s like you’re always properly turned on.”

Liam mumbles a moan into Zayn’s hair with stuttering thrusts.

“Are you like this when you toss off alone?”

“No,” Liam says, abashed and shameful. He’s blushing and looking at Zayn’s hands on his cock, squeezing his hip rather than in Zayn’s eyes.

“So you’re like this for just me?” Zayn wonders, kissing another mark near Liam’s shoulder.

Liam nods quickly, abandoning a moan deep in his throat when Zayn adds more pressure.

“I do this to you?” Zayn inquires.

He wants to sound smug, cocky like he knows Louis would be with a bloke, but he can’t. Not when Liam looks so nervous, so open.  Not when he’s biting down on his lip like the admission is too much.  Because Zayn is the fucking _moon_ – all big and unexplainable and recognizable in the dark – to him.

Liam fists a trembling hand into Zayn’s hair, tugging him close. Their foreheads smack and Zayn yelps while Liam breathes heavily into his open mouth.

“You excite me, man,” Liam whispers with a scrunched brow and rusted pink cheeks. “And you scare me.  You get me off and you make me feel stronger.  You go away and I panic.  You’re my best mate and, when I’m not careful, my destruction.”

Zayn’s hand stills on Liam’s cock, precome slicking his knuckles. The oxygen in his chest turns to smoke.  It’s just a haze – the sound of Liam’s voice, their bodies this close, his own thoughts turning into static – and his line of vision goes out of focus like bad panoramic view.

“So, yeah, you fucking do this to me,” Liam adds roughly, his voice hoarse as he starts to fuck into Zayn’s hand again. “You make my dick hard and I can’t stop getting all slick down there at the thought of you fucking swallowing me whole so get me off before I make you do just that.”

Zayn growls deep in his chest and Liam goes wanton against the refrigerator when Zayn tightens his fingers.

His stubble leaves Liam’s skin pink. His fingers are deft in the way they hold Liam and he lets Liam do all the work from there – shaky thrusts, uneven strokes, fucking pulling Zayn’s hair so his head tips back with a laugh while Liam drags his teeth over Zayn’s throat.

“Fuck,” Liam mutters, hips hammering until Zayn thinks he’ll fracture his wrist, “Oh, _jaan_.”

Zayn jerks his head back when Liam is so close with huge eyes, a deep breath.

“What did you – “

“Nothing,” Liam mumbles quickly, ducking to hide his face.

Zayn uses his spare hand to cup Liam’s chin, lift his crumpled face. He cocks an eyebrow at Liam until he turns red all over under Zayn’s gaze.  And then he looks up with these bright, bright eyes and that’s it.

That’s why he can’t stop thinking about it.

Liam is like architecture that you watch quietly or an oil painting hung in a museum or that one answer to a crossword puzzle you spend hours, days even, trying to figure out.

Because Liam is this enigma that Zayn doesn’t want to solve. He wants to be confused and astonished by it for the rest of his life.

He tugs Liam off for a few more breaths and almost says it. He _almost asks_ but –

Zayn kisses Liam’s swollen lips while he comes across Zayn’s trackies. He holds onto the _‘will you marry me’_ because he doesn’t have a ring and this isn’t the right moment and Louis would _slaughter_ him for proposing post-orgasm.

Instead, he stares at Liam with a mouthful of promises – because Liam is a _forever_ and this feeling is meant for a lifetime and morning coffee is some sort of adoring declaration of love in some foreign country, he’s certain – and a tongue weighed down by a _‘you’re a lifetime for me’_ he never utters.

After Liam cleans him off and tugs up his own jeans, he earnestly drags Zayn to the window so they can watch the city below them. He smiles into the nape of Zayn’s neck with arms wrapped around his waist.

And Zayn smiles at their reflection until he’s no longer bothered by the thoughts in his head.

 

//

 

**April 2014**

 

Zayn knows Liam has been thinking about proposing to him.

He catches it in the hints Liam softly mumbles, his little quiet conversations about a _future_ in the dark, his _almost_ over a Valentine’s Day marathon of Pixar films, the way Harry keeps nudging Zayn when Liam’s staring at him too hard across the room.

The smug _‘Liam wants to be one of those cool dads so why don’t you – ‘_ Harry says over coffee when Liam’s not around.

The sneaky conversations with Ruth about a ring size or Niall loudly humming the wedding march or Louis casually – _purposely_ , because he’s a bastard _intentionally_ – flipping on _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ on a rainy Saturday last month.

The thing is – Zayn has been considering it too.

He’s spent three-fourths of the current term and almost every waking breath in-between trying to build the courage. He’s saved a nice bundle of quid for a ring and even rung up Geoff to ask permission –

Because Liam is a gentleman and would do the same, if he was even thinking about such a thing.

Except Yaser refuses to let him buy a ring. Instead, he comes into London on a gloomy, grey Saturday morning and drags Zayn all the way to the pulse of the city to some Indian cuisine restaurant that Zayn didn’t know existed.  He orders them tea, gives Zayn a very stern expression, and sighs before pulling a tiny black box from the breast pocket of his shirt.

“My sweet _beta_ ,” he says with a softness and a smile showing all of his age, “It was your daadi’s.”

It’s an old ring, the silver worn and scratched but still shiny in the restaurant lights. He remembers it fondly before looking at Yaser with a hitch in his breath.

“But _baba_ – “

Yaser shakes his head, shoving the ring at Zayn. “If you’re going to do this, you will bring him in with a family gift.  To the rest of us, he’s already a Malik but at least he should have a piece of our history like he has a piece of you, beta.”

He doesn’t have the words to argue. He grasps the ring and lets his father tug him into one of those long, aching hugs where they both breathe a little unsteady afterwards.

And he ends up palming the ring for weeks until there’s a permanent imprint in his palm and not enough courage to do this properly.

He knows Liam would make a spectacle with his proposal. A dozen roses and candlelight and Harry standing in the corner holding up a stereo that plays Bruno Mars.  In the middle of a restaurant or right there at the center of Knightsbridge for a hundred London residents to watch.

But Zayn is _simple_.

He thinks it’s what Liam likes best about him.

No parade or fireworks or Niall crooning old Justin Timberlake covers while Zayn drops the ring in a glass of fucking _top-shelf champagne_.

Just here, in their loft, when the world outside is quiet and Zayn’s palms are too sweaty to hold the ring.

Liam is toweling off his hair in the mirror with a bare chest and low-slung sweats. He’s humming something vague but Zayn barely notices.  He keeps stealing glances between Liam and his halfway packed bag left unfinished at the end of their bed.  He’s going to Wolverhampton for the weekend for some mate’s birthday – and he keeps begging Zayn to come along but he’s got a paper due on Monday and he’s too exhausted from late lectures to think of anything other than –

There’s a freshly pressed suit hanging off the door and soft lighting in the bedroom but Zayn thinks it’s all wrong.

He’s rethinking everything and twisting his fingers together as he paces back and forth. He doesn’t deserve Liam.  Liam can’t possibly want this.  This is just _temporary_ – nearly two years later, of course.

He’s not ready.

Except Liam doesn’t give him a moment to refigure any of this. He crawls onto the bed when Zayn perches on the edge and spreads noisy kisses over the tendons in Zayn’s neck.

“You’re so daft,” Liam mumbles into Zayn’s hair. “You’re still thinking about going, aren’t you?”

 _No_.  He swallows, whispers, “Yes.”

He’s never been an avid fan of silly sayings like _‘now or never’_ but the weight on his chest is unbearable.  He wipes his palms all along his ripped jeans while Liam massages fingers over his spine.  There’s hesitation spiking his brain but he hauls in a deep drag of oxygen before turning until their noses brush.

“I really want you to come,” Liam begs. “It’s gonna be ace.  All of the lads back home are waiting to see you.  It’s just a weekend.”

Zayn wants Liam to shut up.  He wants him to stop smiling dumbly and quit with the bright eyes before he crumbles.  Before he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing and kisses Liam instead.

He coughs on his next breath, pressing his forehead to Liam’s while sneaking a hand under the comforters. He’s been putting in extra hours for one of his art classes and he hasn’t explained to Liam while his fingertips are always smudged with ink or paint now just for this moment.

This stupid, childish, unnecessary moment.

He pulls out a poster-board from under the duvet and shoves it at Liam before he can second – well, _third_ or _fourth_ – guess himself.  He can’t swallow or stop his trembling hands but he pinches down on his lip with his teeth to make a noise that sounds something like _‘here this is for you don’t laugh’_ but everything is garbled.

Everything but that white hot pride in his chest when Liam lifts a curious brow and smiles.

“What’s this?” Liam asks under his breath, plopping down on the bed as he scales his eyes over the canvas.

 _It’s silly_ , Zayn thinks.

It’s just a canvas broken into comic book panels. Just Liam dressed like Batman, fighting crime in Gotham.  Just two last panels where _Bat-Liam_ – honestly, he’s so daft – finds a black box and clutches it with a curious look when he pulls his cowl off.

A look like the one Liam’s wearing now.

“It’s _you_ ,” Zayn squeaks, flinching when his cheeks heat up.

Liam nods slowly, brushing his fingers over the dried paint.

“And it’s um, well – “

Liam snorts, thumbing the final panel until Zayn swears the _‘to be continued…’_ will be inked to Liam’s skin.

“What’s in the box?” Liam asks, lowering the canvas. He’s still got a curious arch to his eyebrow but with a quiet pink high on his cheeks.

It feels like broken glass when Zayn tries to swallow and his voice gives out on him like during that fifth year talent show where he had to give a solo in front of the entire school. His heart is cracking his ribcage before his hand manages to slide into a pocket of his jeans.

He can’t look at himself in the reflection so he looks in Liam’s eyes instead. He knows he’s red-faced with sweat on his brow and wrecked hair.  He should be in a smart suit or an Oxford instead of jeans and a fucking _Bob Marley_ singlet.  But his tongue flicks out to wet his lips while he wills himself to stop shaking when he slides off the bed onto one knee –

They’re not Shakespeare and more _the Dark Knight_ than _the Notebook_ but he can’t think of any other way to do this.

He finds Liam’s hand without looking, too lost on the wide eyes and indulgent smile on Liam’s lips. He squeezes a little too tightly before fumbling open the box, coughing into his shoulder to clear his throat.

“M’supposed to have some sort of speech or summat prepared, right? A sick poem about how much I love you, yeah?  But I’m terrible at those things – “

Liam makes a disapproving noise, wrinkling his brow.

“You’re brilliant.”

“Shut up,” Zayn laughs lowly, threading their fingers together. He holds up the ring and Liam’s trembles precede his hitched breath.  “Just shut up and lemme stick around for a lifetime, okay?  For a vow.  For a promise.  For waking up to your silly face and morning coffee, okay?”

Liam’s fingers squeeze around his, brushing his knuckles and he looks pale for a moment like –

It’s a _no_.  It’s a _too soon_ and _we’re too young Malik_.  It has to be.

“Are you – “ Liam swallows and Zayn’s shoulders go tight before he nods.

“Like, I can’t imagine this life with you, babe, so – like, marry me, alright?”

He knows he sounds unsure and his bottom lip is ruined by his teeth but Liam giggles, all of the flush running down his neck and chest before he replies, “Couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do, Malik.”

It’s not a _yes_ , not the traditional way, but they’re so far from that.  They’re light years from the things his sister reads about in trashy romance novels.

They’re not at the right height when he goes to slide the ring on but he manages with a trembling hand and a gigantic grin that’s wholly embarrassing. Except Liam has a matching one and releases Zayn’s fingers to reach down to cup a handful of hair.  He hauls Zayn up and they’re partly kissing but mostly laughing when they roll onto the bed.

“I’m sorry it’s not dramatic or massive like I know you like,” Zayn admits into Liam’s mouth, biting his bottom lip before Liam can. “I’m sure you’d like for it to be some big thing and stuff.”

Liam tries to look offended but he can’t quite pull it off. He laughs instead, curling his fingers in Zayn’s thick hair.  “No,” he grins but with hot cheeks and those damn starry eyes Zayn gets lost in.

“So it’s good?”

Liam giggle turns into a shrug and his eyes crinkle up. “It’s all good, babe.  Simple.  Definitely you.”

Zayn smiles at that; he can’t help it. His heart slows enough that he can handle the hammering and his fingers are so distracted with Liam’s skin that he forgets to look down at his hand.

At the ring, his grandfather’s ring, wrapped neatly around Liam’s finger. Liam’s piece of Malik.  Well, besides _Zayn_ but that didn’t really take some silly proposal and much courage.

Just coffee and a smile.

Liam kisses him when he’s too caught on his thoughts, brushing soft pressure to Zayn’s lips. He nuzzles their noses and demands, “You’re coming to Wolverhampton with me now, mate.  No fighting it.  We’ll come back early so you can worry over your studies and you don’t even have t’pack.  Just wear some of my old clothes.”

Zayn thinks he already does that because these are Liam’s socks on his feet and a wooden bead bracelet Harry gave Liam after a trip to Chinatown on his wrist and a few love bites down his shoulder from Liam’s teeth.

“But – “

“No, Malik,” Liam insists, kissing him one last time before rolling off the bed. He pads back towards the bathroom with his phone in his hand, smiling over his shoulder.  “Bring your books and that stupid pillow you like to sleep with.  We’re leaving in an hour.”

Zayn curls into the sheets with a smile, spreading his hand over the warm spot Liam just occupied. He watches Liam close the bathroom door but all of the low music and soft rain outside can’t hide Liam’s voice through the wood –

“Ruth, babe, _he proposed_.  Oi, stop crying like you do when you watch _Hollyoaks_.  Focus, okay?  You’ve got to cancel the band and the roses and our reservations at that posh place mum and dad love, alright?  No, you can’t still have the rose petals and tell Nicola to trash the _‘will you marry me’_ banner, alright?”

Zayn laughs into his pillow, watching the door fondly.

He thinks he loves that about Liam, too.

 

//

 

**June 2014**

 

“Oh, and there is this lovely chapel near Richmond that you lot must book. It’ll be hard to plan a fall wedding there but I’m certain I can ring up a few friends.”

Zayn is doodling over one of the pub’s menus, tongue between his teeth, a foot absently nudging Liam’s beneath the table.

He hasn’t been intentionally ignoring Donna but he’s sort of irritated by her horrible put upon American accent, even though her business card says she’s from _Sutton_.  She has an affinity for pastel suits and messy buns, bright red lipstick and, honestly, he doesn’t think they need a _wedding coordinator_ but Karen insisted upon her.  She’s an old friend and Zayn can’t argue with Liam when he puts on that sweet frown and huge eyes.

So, instead, he focuses on sketching out dumb drawings on the back of the menu while Louis snorts to his left and Ruth swoons over the proposed flower arrangements.

“And white suits. Neat and smart,” Donna says, clapping her hands together in victory, even after Liam lifts a discouraging eyebrow and Zayn lowers his head to make a face.  “Black ties are a must.  Fall fashion, boys.  I’ve brought along magazines for reference.”

There’s already a pile of wedding books across the wooden table, surrounded by mugs of beer and half-eaten baskets of chips. Louis is leaning back with this smug look, kicking Zayn’s knee under the table when Zayn sighs under his breath.

Zayn frowns and kicks back. He really hates how much Louis is loving every second of this.

“I have the perfect groomer – “

 _Fucking hell_ , Zayn thinks but his head jerks up when Liam clears his throat.  He offers an apologetic look even if Liam knows Zayn is growing his hair out.  And he likes his stubble, most days.  Plus he hates the idea of anyone’s fingers in his hair but Liam’s.

And only when Liam’s grabbing a fistful to ease his cock into Zayn’s waiting throat but –

Zayn blushes when Liam glares at him like _he knows_.  He bites down on his lip and steals his eyes back to his sketches while Ruth keens over a garden reception.

A fucking _garden reception_ like in the pages of _the Times_ or _the Sun_.

He groans quietly while Louis’ fingers slide beneath his collar to rub at the nape of his neck.

“And could we possibly have some classical music playing for the first dance?” Louis teases with this wide-eyed, happy expression that Donna eats up.

“Mozart and Chopin. Oh, it’ll be very elegant.”

“I don’t dance,” Zayn mutters with his head still lowered.

“Oh, _Zayn_ ,” Ruth giggles.

Louis covers up a laugh with a sneeze while Liam tilts his head.

“Oh sweetheart,” Donna sighs, sounding wholly impatient behind that stretched smile. “Everyone dances.  Especially at their wedding.  You’ll do just fine.”

Zayn blinks at her, swallowing back an _‘I won’t fucking dance for you and I’m not a puppet’_ because Liam’s still watching him with a worried brow.

He’s doing all of this for Liam. He thinks they both know it, even if Liam doesn’t comment about it and takes all of Donna’s calls while Zayn naps on the sofa.  He’s saving up as many pounds as possible while Liam has taken on an extra job during the summer break but still –

He’s simple. He’s impractical.  Zayn is not a cover model for _London Bride_.

“Oh, and your mum should give you away, sweetheart,” Donna says cheekily, rubbing at Zayn’s wrist.

He flinches before biting harshly on his lip to stop his frown. He thinks Liam notices.  He brushes a foot over Liam’s ankle and looks away so quickly.

He doesn’t want that. Not a church or elegant music playing in the background or all of his mates dressed in suits for black and white photos.

His eyes squeeze shut while he pinches the bridge of his nose. Louis’ fingers scratch out an _SOS_ into his skin while Ruth shuffles through book after book for a formal gown.

“Lilac for the sisters,” Donna swoons while Ruth giggles along, nodding.

His tongue brushes the dry, chapped feeling from his lips. Liam is in the corner of his vision, still watching him.  He tries to muscle a smile onto his lips because he can see Liam’s mouth slopping downward.  Fingers navigate across the table and find Liam’s knuckles, rubbing at them slowly while he keeps repeating in his head –

 _This is all for you. All for Liam.  Everything after is for the_ both _of you_.

 

//

 

“ _Leeyum_.”

Zayn is drowsy and shamelessly needy when he budges through the heavy door of their loft. He drags his feet after kicking off his boots and dropping his shoulderbag.  He just wants a hot cup of tea and a warm bed and a Liam to burrow into but that’s not what he’s greeted by.

Instead, he finds Liam spread out on the sofa. His laptop is sat on his legs and there’s printed out papers surrounding him and images on his phone and a book titled _Attar of Roses and Other Stories from Pakistan_ next to his hip.  The laptop flashes a Wikipedia page about Pakistani wedding traditions and Zayn _stares_ at Liam for a few breaths with large eyes.

“What are you – “

Liam looks completely abashed before reaching out to wrap calloused fingers around Zayn’s wrist, tugging him down onto the sofa.

He smears soft kisses along Zayn’s hairline while Zayn cuddles up, kicking his feet up on the coffee table next to Liam’s. An arm curls possessively around his shoulders and he drags over the tabs to see Liam’s browser history – a comprehensive study of Zayn’s culture.

“Babe?” Zayn wonders with a slowly lifted eyebrow.

Liam hides his blush in the crook of Zayn’s neck while tangling his fingers in Zayn’s hair.

“You haven’t been happy,” Liam whispers, smiling. “You’re not fond of Donna.”

“Understatement,” Zayn mutters, still clicking through the web browser.

“And I want you happy. I want you comfortable,” Liam adds, biting at Zayn’s neck.  “So I rung up Doniya and got your aunts involved.  I kindly told Donna to fuck off and, I dunno, man.  This feels better.”

“Researching Pakistani weddings?” Zayn wonders.

Liam nods instantly, shuffling a laugh to the shell of Zayn’s ear. “I’ve been planning it out for a few days now.  After you crash in bed every night and all,” he admits.  His fingers slide beneath Zayn’s shirt to run along his waist.  “It’s so interesting.”

“My culture isn’t meant to be interesting,” Zayn huffs, knocking their ankles.

“Wrong word choice,” Liam winces. “I’m awful at things like that.”

Zayn nods but he’s unable to do anything but wiggle a smile over his lips while rubbing at Liam’s thigh.

“You know I’m only _half_ -Pakistani though,” Zayn says absently.

Liam nods slowly. “I know.”

“M’okay with _some_ of the stuff Donna’s suggested.  My mum would probably like something, you know, traditional.  And you don’t have to, like, I don’t need you to,” Zayn huffs because his words are tangled over his tongue.  Liam is doing this – _for him_.  He’s researching and ringing up his family and –

He doesn’t _deserve_ this boy.  He swears, he doesn’t.

“This is what _you_ want?  You’re not like, I guess, doing it to please me, right?  Because – “

Liam groans and pinches Zayn’s side. “Shut up.  I’m my own thinker.”

“Independent,” Zayn offers with a grin.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Whatever.  I just – I’m not marrying just any bloke from Bradford.  I’m marrying _you_.  And we’re gonna do it this way, alright?  The way it should be.”

Zayn doesn’t argue or let his lips slide into a frown. He knocks away the book and tugs the laptop off Liam’s thighs.  He scrunches his nose when Liam replaces it with Zayn, wrapping arms around his waist and making Zayn feel helpless in the best way.

“Okay,” Zayn says carefully, hushed. His fingers skid over Liam’s stubble and their eyes meet when they both lick their lips.  “But it’s better if I tell you about it rather than reading articles about it.”

 

//

 

**December 2014**

 

They’re anything but traditional.

His aunt shifts all of the furniture around in her far from modest house in Bradford and forces all of his younger cousins to help out in the kitchen two nights before the wedding. Music spills into every room and the house reeks of burnt incenses and this wavering floral scent that reminds Zayn of his childhood.  Shoes are piled by the door, most of the women are draped in pretty pinks and sunny yellows and the aroma of all of his favorite dishes sneak up on him while he’s in the hallway.

“This is amazing,” Liam says from the doorway, grinning.

Zayn flicks his eyes over Liam. He’s wearing a loose, casual orange kameez with a pair of matching salwar sitting low on his hips.  His skin is that nice shade of honey under the low lighting and Zayn wants to stare at him for hours.  For a lifetime.

He sneaks a hand under the sleeve to scratch at the _‘only time will tell…’_ over Liam’s wrist until Liam focuses on him rather than the brightly decorated room.

“Amazing,” he repeats and he’s certain he means _Liam_ and not the atmosphere but he hides half of his blush-stained cheeks in the crook of Liam’s neck when Liam fumbles a shy smile.

“You look great,” Liam adds, his words muffled in Zayn’s thick, dark hair.

Zayn grins with a spare hand running over the intricate fabric on Liam’s kameez. “Shut up.”

“Love you,” Liam counters and it’s just enough to make Zayn moan softly before all of his family swallows them up at the doorway.

They’re drug into the room under a beautifully stitched dupatta and Zayn can’t help but watch the silly, embarrassed grin on Liam’s face rather than his family when their fingers brush by their sides. He laughs when Liam looks nervous, chewing his bottom lip with wide eyes when all of the women swoon over him.

“They’re going to eat me alive, aren’t they?” he asks, soft and anxious.

Zayn snorts and nods quickly. He lets Doniya tug him away while his aunts swarm Liam and all he remembers for a heartbeat is the way Liam’s cheeks go pink as he watches Zayn walk away.

He watches as all of his younger cousins dance around the living room to an echo of music. They spin around Liam, laughing and tugging on him until he dances with every one of them.  Liam’s head keeps tipping back with bursts of giggles, his smile stretched wide, his hands ruffling the boys’ hair and assisting all of the little girls twist around the room.

Zayn chews on his bottom lip from a table in the corner while Doniya carefully applies henna to the back of his wrists. He switches to cradling a hand through his hair to hide his smile when Liam shoots him this happy, dumb grin from across the room.  He watches Safaa and Waliyha sweat through a clumsily choreographed routine just for Liam while all of his insides light up like a north star.

His eyes stray to a few tables over where a few of his aunts are brushing henna over Ruth and Nicola’s hands and wrists. He can’t help his smirk at the sound of their laughter – like Liam’s – and the way they blush at all of the compliments thrown at them.

“He’s so happy,” Doniya says casually, dotting henna over his skin.

Zayn looks up at her rather than Liam. She’s smiling like it’s a secret, eyes cast downward.

“And they all really love him. I heard all of the women giggling over him in the kitchen earlier,” Doniya grins a little wider.  “And the kids adore him.”

Zayn nods slowly, still bruising his lip with his teeth.

“Safaa can’t get enough of him,” she laughs, tilting her head to admire her artwork. “Wali too.  Sasha is a bit manic over him.”

He remembers – the way her cheeks lit up when Liam dropped to one knee to press a soft kiss against her face, cradling the back of her head until she was smiling dopily.

He knows the feeling.

Doniya brushes chunky fringe from her eyes and it’s the first time he notices a messy streak of runny mascara under her eye. She keeps fixing her design, putting a heavy focus on all of the details but her cheeks are rosy and her sniffle gives her away.

“He’s so – _happy_ with you,” she sighs shakily, “Which is completely horrible, of course, because you’re still such a prat.  Like how could anyone be this happy with you?”

He reaches out to catch another black tear on his fingertip, smearing it on the table. His teeth bite at his smile when she glances up with a shaky grin.

“Don’t you dare tell mum,” she hisses with a laugh.

He nods, dragging a thumb over her cheek until she pushes into the touch.

“It’s quite weird because he’s already like a brother for me,” she adds, huffing before dropping her eyes again. Her touch is softer while she brushes on the henna.  “It’s quite mad how in love with you the poor lad is.”

“Getting all mushy on me and stuff,” Zayn teases but it’s only to cover up the rattle of his heart in his ears.

They snort together while he watches her add little fine details into the piece of his left wrist. It’s just a simple wedding mehndi but Zayn keeps thinking of staining it with a needle and tattoo ink later, when the world is quiet again and he wants a reminder for Liam to look at when they’re alone.

“Looking good little bro,” Nicola calls out with a grin, lifting her hands to show off all of the henna stained across them. She winks at Zayn and he ducks his head with blush aching across his cheeks.

“I’m next Doni!” Safaa yelps, scurrying under one of Doniya’s arms to watch her apply detail to the flower.

“Quit being a little brat,” Waliyha scolds. She knocks into Doniya to throw her arms around Doniya’s neck, grinning in her hair while Doniya mumbles.

Liam is breathless when he flops down next to Zayn. There’s shiny sweat on his brow, his hand scooping hair out of his eyes before he smacks a loud kiss to Zayn’s cheek.

“Amazing,” he huffs with a grin.

Zayn snickers. He knocks a shoulder to Liam’s with a smile meant only for him.  He’s lightheaded at the way Liam reacts with a soft smirk and pink cheeks and this starry-eyed look Zayn will never understand because no one should ever, ever look at him _like that_.

Like he’s the heavens. Like he’s a wonder.

But Liam ducks in close enough to skim his lips over Zayn’s jaw before whispering, “You’re absolutely manic to want to marry me.”

It sounds a little scared and a lot tender but Zayn doesn’t have enough time to reply before Doniya makes a protesting noise when Zayn’s wrist flinches at the contact.

“Go away,” Doniya hisses with a scowl and a half-smile when Liam’s shoulder tighten up. She waves him off quickly.  “He needs to _relax_.”

“I thought I made you relax,” Liam mumbles into his neck.

“You make me insane,” Zayn laughs and accepts the deliberate bite to his throat Liam gives him.

“Am I not meant to find me name in the design or summat?” Liam wonders, leaning in to drag his eyes all over the henna. It’s the kind of stare that should melt someone but Zayn feels all of his muscles beat a gentle warmth.

He fucking _relaxes_ and he really hates Liam, the bastard, for doing this to him.

“Liam,” Waliyha swoons with a giggle.

“I can find it!” Safaa yells, crowding in closer.

“Nope. Not now,” Doniya scolds, shouldering them back.  “Save it for the Shab-i-Zifaf.”

“That’s the wedding night, right?” Liam asks. Zayn lets out a wild laugh with crinkled eyes and a scrunching nose that draws too much attention but he doesn’t care.

This boy with his stupid smile and pink lips and red cheeks is all that matters.

“Oi, Liam, my love,” his Aunt Maryum coos when she sidles up to the table. “We’re not done with you yet.”

Zileh laughs nearby, tousling Liam’s hair before pressing a messy kiss to Zayn’s temple. “This one here,” she giggles, tugging at Liam.  “He’s quite _fit_.  And so lovely, Zayn, I swear.  How blessed are you.”

“Very,” Zayn says under his breath. He tries to ignore the bright-eyed expression Liam gives him before he huffs a laugh and stumbles to his feet.

“More dancing, yeah?” Maryum cheers while Zileh pulls Liam towards the center of the room.

He catches his mum watching from the kitchen doorway, hair pulled into a messy ponytail with an apron on. She leans her temple against the doorframe and stares at Liam for a few moments, smiling affectionately at the sound of his laughter and the way he tries to keep up with all of the dancing and singing.

For a moment, Zayn wonders if this is how it was for her – an outsider in this massive family. A foreign world with unknown traditions and this quiet kind of uncertainty about it all.  Being the _different one_ amongst all of his relatives.

Someone so madly in love that none of that mattered.

His father does a dramatic slide in front of her that leaves her doubled over with laughter before he’s gently pulling her into the room, to the heart of all of the dancing, to press together and move around laughably like this is all still so new.

It’s the first time – no, _every time is the first time_ for them.

Ruth and Nicola wedge around him when Doniya finishes applying the henna and Liam falls into his lap with a mouthful of giggles and a carefree smile the entire room mocks when Zayn’s cheeks start to burn.

And it’s a first – like everything else with Liam – that he wants to hold onto for a lifetime.

 

//

 

It’s a frosty December evening in Bradford and there’s just enough snow falling to blanket the city in a white tapestry.

His sisters keep twirling around in the mirror of the suite, their cherry red dresses floating with every graceless turn. He’s pushing his hair back in the reflection and trying to fix his sherwani until it looks _decent_ but he feels a little out of place – even though it fits around the shoulders, looks impeccably tailored, makes him look slim but strong – and it takes him a moment – or a breath, really – before his heart starts up again.

Because he’s getting married.

Zayn toys with the sleeves while Doniya hums behind him. He bites his bottom lip raw and only flinches slightly when Doniya smacks his arm.

“Stop or you’ll look like a nervous virgin on the day of your wedding,” she scowls.

He laughs in the mirror. She’s this docile tornado, this howling wind in his mind.  It’s calming in an eerie way but he welcomes it because Doniya is nothing but focused.  She’s determined.

She’s like the blood around his marrow and he’ll never be able to explain that to anyone but her, no matter how hard he tries.

He gives himself another long look before sighing. His jaw is bare and his eyes are this burnt gold in the mirror.  He laughs to himself and thinks of Princess Jasmine when he stares too long.  All of the fabric is this tinted turquoise hue, shiny teal under the bright lights.  The collar is gold-trimmed and he shifts his bare feet on the lush carpet to kick at his curly-toed jutti shoes.

 _Princess_ fucking _Jasmine_.

“You look lovely, sunshine,” Trisha beams while fixing Safaa’s hair.

“He looks like a Disney – “

“Shut it,” he hisses before Doniya can finish and they share a huge smile in the reflection.

She’s the morning tide and he’s just the sun in the background, he swears.

He’s fussing with his shalwar pants in the mirror when Niall hip-checks into the room. He’s got hurricane hair and wide eyes and a loose-fit kurta with wrinkled pajama bottoms.  His cheeks are flushed when he stumbles up to Zayn.

“Liam is freaking out,” he says, breathless, wrinkling Zayn’s sleeve with his fingers.

Zayn smiles, brushing lengthy fringe off his face. Doniya pulls it behind a headband while Zayn hums quietly.

“He’s fine.”

“Bro, he’s losing his – “

“Language, Niall,” Trisha warns with a warm grin.

Niall nods quickly, swallowing. “The prick is mucking about in his suite and he’s only half-dressed.  He’s gonna vomit, I swear.”

Zayn laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “He’s fine.”

“But – “

“He’s fine,” Zayn repeats, calmly. He shakes away from Niall’s rough grasp and fixes his sleeve.  “It’s Liam.  He’s sensible.  He’s always, like, chilled.”

“He’s an absolute _wreck_ , you idiot, and he’s never been as sensible as me,” Niall argues and all of the eyes in the room look at him doubtfully.

“Nialler,” Zayn smirks, blindly twining their fingers together. He absently brushes a thumb over Niall’s knuckles until his breathing settles before he adds, “Is it _Leeyum_ or is it _you_ , babe?”

Niall stares at him for a second before finally letting out a long exhale. He drags his spare hand down his face and shuffles closer.  “He’s my best mate, okay?” he sighs and groans when Zayn squeezes around his fingers.  “He’s so happy and I want this for him, badly, mate.  That’s fair, innit?  To totally lose your shit over your bro’s upcoming wedding?”

Trisha makes a disapproving noise in the background but Zayn merely laughs and presses their foreheads together.

“Seems fair, mate,” he whispers.

“Even though you’re a totally sick bro, dude. Sweet lad, you are,” Niall adds with pink cheeks and this muted calm under his skin.  “Glad ye stuck around.”

“Me too.”

“If anything,” Yaser says from a big, comfy chair in a corner of the room, eyes looking down as he scrolls through his phone, “Zayn’s aunts will probably be the reason Liam runs off. I don’t know how he’s survived this week with all of this family time.  Bloody well should run.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Trisha giggles while swatting at Yaser’s arm. “Don’t say such a thing.  He’ll adjust.”

“Like you?” Yaser wonders, raising an amused eyebrow.

“I’m still adjusting,” Trish teases.

They share a quick kiss and Zayn is certain.

He’s so, so _sure_ of this.

This lifetime, this decision, this determined need to break all of his own beliefs.

 

//

 

Zayn watches the baraat from a cracked door near the hallway. The hotel is small, unassuming, cozy like he imagines countryside inns probably are.  But there’s enough space in the hall near the lobby and formal dining area to fit all of his family and mates, Liam’s too.

Karen is carefully blotting away tears while Geoff is grinning like a self-imposed king. He can see Ruth and Nicola laughing and crying at the same time, draped in silky greens and gold with their henna on full display.  Niall’s smiling like mad, shaking hands and high-fiving because he doesn’t understand tradition but they’re nothing like –

He smiles to himself because maybe this is tradition for them. Being informal and breaking every single rule.

All of Harry’s thick curls are pulled back into a chaotic bun and there’s a certain soft glow about him when he follows most of the others. He walks like a noble but smirks like an old classmate with his cottony white kurta accented by sandalwood pieces.  He catches Zayn even though he’s trying to be sneaky and winks immediately with that crooked smirk he always wears when he spots Zayn across a crowded room.

Liam is –

Zayn has honestly been trying for years to find one word to describe Liam. Over the dozens of adjectives he’s learned through his studies and reading, he has yet to find something that fits beautifully over his tongue

– a _wonder_ at the front of the baraat.

He’s wearing a deep red sherwani, accentuated with gold, and this awed-look. He’s shied away from wearing the turban, his gelled hair falling in his eyes every few steps when he bows for a garland of flowers around his neck.  He’s stumbling a little and Zayn can’t quiet his laugh at that, at the way Liam’s cheeks are a soft pink or the way he looks sheepish every time someone throws a fistful of petals at him.

Zayn grins to himself because, admittedly, it’s the first time he can remember Liam looking so out of place in a crowd of people. Shy and awkward with large eyes, a parted mouth.

Liam looks almost at home when he finds Doniya and Safaa at the end of the line. He kneels down for her garland, pressing a wet kiss to Safaa’s cheek before Doniya brushes the hair out of his eye.  He wears this self-deprecating smile when Waliyha hugs him and reaches back to grab his mum’s hand before moving further up the hall.

“Sunshine,” Trisha calls and he spins around so quickly to admire her. “Are you ready?”

Not even close, actually.

His heart is somewhere in his stomach and his palms are sweaty and his bones don’t fit properly under all of his skin but –

He forces oxygen into his lungs when his mum wraps her arms tightly around his neck. Yaser fixes his turban, brushes the backs of his knuckles over Zayn’s cheek before a whispered ‘ _be strong, my beta, he’s in love with you’_ is accompanied by a warm smile.  He squeezes an arm around his mum’s back and fixes a crooked grin to his lips for his dad.

“Yeah,” he breathes out shakily. “Alright.  M’ready.”

 

//

 

Maybe they are a little bit traditional.

He feels like there’s no gravity to suspend him to the ground. No, he’s in orbit and Liam is just – he’s a star.  He’s this glowing hot piece of matter that Zayn can’t steal himself away from.  And he can’t shake the smile off his lips at the way Liam tries to follow along when the imam officiates the ceremony.  He’s still got that look of wonder – like a kid on the first day of school – and his pink bottom lip is a candy red from his teeth now but Zayn twists their fingers together to keep him calm.

He’s certain most of his family is shaking their heads at him but he can’t find the strength to care.

He laughs at Liam’s bewildered expression and squeezes his fingers tight when the imam asks, for the third time, if Liam is certain he wants to marry Zayn. He waits for that relieved expression to float over Liam’s face when they sign the marriage papers and threads his fingers into Liam’s hair to drag him close enough to kiss.

The world goes mute in his head when Liam’s lips skim softly against his. Their noses brush and his view goes blurry because Liam is so close.  It’s this natural slide – like gravity – when he pushes forward until Liam’s hand finds the loose hairs at the nape of his neck and all he can hear is white noise in his brain when Liam kisses back.

He can almost hear his family cheering and Harry’s loud yelp and Louis’ wolf-whistle when Liam tugs him into another slow kiss and the _‘I give you Mr. Zayn and Liam Payne-Malik’_ but all he really hears is Liam.

“Mr. Liam James Malik,” he says into Zayn’s mouth rather than his ear.

Zayn giggles and twists Liam’s hair around his fingers.

“Payne-Malik,” he corrects because he feels as much apart of Liam as he’s certain Liam is apart of him.

“Whatever,” Liam laughs with candy pink cheeks and his hand still squeezing Zayn’s. He spins to face the crowd with a huge grin before he shouts, “I’m a Malik!”

Zayn can’t hear anything louder than his family after that.

 

//

 

The banquet hall is pulsing with music and laughter.

The lighting is bright and the hardwood flooring at the center is crowded with most of his family. The room smells of his favorite dishes and it tastes like sweat and exotic spices and he watches carefully from a side table surrounded by all of his aunts.

Zayn smiles into his fist while watching Liam dance around madly with his cousins. He hauls Safaa onto his feet to slow dance around the floor with her and grinds his hips to ‘Sunny Sunny’ while Sasha blushes beside him.  He laughs with sweat sliding down his throat and his eyes crinkling, tugging Ruth and Nicola to the heart of the crowd to dance around manically.

Trisha hugs Liam halfway through ‘Gandi Baat,’ kissing his cheek happily, and Jawaad drags him to the center of the floor to breakdance to ‘Kamli’ and Liam is a _horrible_ dancer.  But he smiles and laughs the entire time.  It’s amusing, the way everyone crowds around him, slapping his shoulders and shouting cheerfully at him.

It stings like electricity through all of Zayn’s nerves until all he can think is how _incredible_ Liam is.  How lucky he is to have him.

He can’t stop thinking of a coffee shop somewhere in London, in the middle of October, after a blind date. This isn’t supposed to be his life.  You don’t fall in love like that.  This life is filled with illusions – those moments where you think you’re on the right path, only to take a wrong turn halfway to happiness.  Nothing but missed opportunities – an _almost_ first kiss after a first date, a chance to be brave when you walk the other way instead, a best friend to fall in love with when you’re too busy chasing someone who doesn’t want you.

A boy with an affinity for comic books and over-sweetened coffee and singing in the shower that should be with any other lad in all of London but he chooses you.

Something like that happens in silly romance novels or _teenage wasteland_ summer films.

Zayn sits back and blushes when all of his aunts whisper around him until Liam stumbles up, falling into his lap ad smacking a loud kiss to a corner of his mouth.

“Having fun?” he laughs, tangling his fingers in Zayn’s hair.

Zayn’s speechless because Liam’s eyes, his hands, the way his smile stretches makes him lightheaded.

“Yeah,” he breathes and a second before Liam leans in for another kiss, he adds, “Love you.”

Liam grins and doesn’t say it back but Zayn _feels_ it on his lips and that’s quite enough.

 

//

 

Harry is standing in the middle of the room, tapping a fork against his wine glass with that cheeky grin he always wears to break hearts or win over the affection of mums across England.

“Good evening lovers and friends,” he grins when most of the room goes quiet.

Niall groans immediately from next to Liam, swallowing back most of his wine.

“I know now is not the moment for toasts and this honor should go to my dear mate Niall Horan,” he says with a smirk. “But he’s a wee bit hammered – “

“I hate you Styles!” Niall laughs, hiding his face on Liam’s shoulder when Louis raises his brow at him.

“ – and don’t be naughty, Niall, this is a family event,” Harry continues, lowering his glass a little. “I thought it appropriate that I took his spot because there are a few things that need to be said about Liam and his brand new husband.”

There’s a rush of coos around the room and its Zayn’s turn to hide his face in Liam’s shoulder, biting down on his lip to distract himself from how hot his cheeks get.

Liam squeezes his thigh from the table before nudging him back. He circles a strong, confident arm around Zayn’s tense shoulders and Harry shoots them a fond smile that loosens the knot in Zayn’s stomach.

“This year, for Halloween, Liam dressed up as Batman – “

“For the _fifth_ time!” Geoff calls out and Karen cackles while Liam throws a hand over his red face with an abashed laugh in his chest.

Zayn smirks and tugs the hand away to reposition it back on his thigh. There’s another comforting squeeze under the table that soothes Zayn.

“And our precious Zayn dressed up like the Joker,” Harry adds, wriggling his eyebrows. “Because he loves Liam.  Because that’s just them.  They’re quite weird but in a brilliant way.  They fit together.”

There’s a few approving grunts from the men, an echo of giggles from the women. It spreads the blush down Zayn’s neck, high on his chest but Liam offers up this proud smile without any hesitance.

“You see,” Harry smirks, shifting around the room, “Zayn laughs at all of Liam’s jokes, even though he’s not that funny. And Liam refuses to talk to anyone but Zayn about all of the behind the scenes stuff he finds on all of his Marvel DVD’s.”

Zayn groans at the laughter that vibrates off the walls while Niall salutes them with a fresh glass of wine. He doesn’t know where he gets it from and it’s probably his _sixth glass_ but Zayn’s too preoccupied with Liam mumbling soft, affectionate words in his hair to comment on that.

“And dear, sweet Zayn knows how Liam loves his coffee made,” Harry continues, closer to their table. He grins against the microphone, leaning forward.  “And Liam loves Jay-Z and hip hop now thanks to Zayn.”

Zayn gives him a defiant grin, still biting his lip, while Liam giggles into the shell of his ear.

“So like I said, they’re quite weird, the two of them. Absolute geeks,” Harry laughs before raising his glass.  “And I couldn’t quite be as happy as I am right now that they will forever be quite geeky together as Mr. Zayn and Liam Payne-Malik.  Cheers you two.  Bless.”

The rattle of a dozen or so voices echoing Harry sets a chill right down his skin but Liam’s fingers are there to chase it. They catch his jaw and turn his head until he’s laughing right against Liam’s mouth.

It’s _nice_ and he’s so happy that he doesn’t care when Liam parts his lip with a little tongue and his family mocks him all through it.

“You naughty boys,” Harry groans into the microphone before downing his wine in one swallow.

 

//

 

“Is this a wedding or a funeral?” Louis asks with folded arms from the hotel hallway.

Zayn sighs quietly. “It’s rukhsati,” he replies from the tight hug his mum has around him.  He breathes in her lilac perfume while her tears dampen his shoulder.  She has a warm, comforting hand pressed hard to his spine and he smiles at the way she’s trying to control the trembles.

Louis cocks an eyebrow up at him.

“It’s a sort of send-off,” he explains while pulling Doniya and Waliyha into a quick hug. “ _Tradition_ – “

“You don’t do tradition,” Louis reminds him, smirking.

Zayn rolls his eyes, biting down on an _‘I fucking know’_ before brushing a few stray tears from Doniya’s eyelashes.

“It’s a part of the ceremony. Sort of a farewell before starting a new life with your,” Zayn swallows and Louis lifts an expectant eyebrow at him this time.

“Husband,” they say together, laughing.

Louis hums thoughtfully, finishing his wine before setting the glass on a nearby table.

Zayn moves briefly through hugs and praise from his aunts. He buries his face into their necks and sighs, trying to find that thin line of composure in his emotions.  He can see, out a corner of his eye, Liam being swallowed up in a death-hug from his sisters.  It’s unforgettably affectionate and Liam’s laughing while kissing their cheeks with crinkled eyes, round cheeks, a wrinkled nose.

Louis fists his hand into Zayn’s collar and drags him close until their foreheads knock. They yelp and laugh briefly.  When his vision returns, there’s something intense in Zayn eyes, devious in his smile.

“You bastard,” he mumbles, thumbing the back of Zayn’s neck until it almost hurts. “I can’t believe you.”

Zayn smiles. “Me neither, bro.”

“Fucking hell,” Louis breathes, sounding slightly vulnerable before his grin stretches. “You’re breaking me apart here, Malik.  Being a grownup and all.  It’s fucking madness.”

“M’married.”

“You’re married,” Louis repeats shakily. “I reckon that’s a pretty brilliant move on your part.”

“Think that’s fair to say,” Zayn giggles, batting his eyes closed. He swallows before quietly adding, “Didn’t think I’d be, like, I just didn’t think – “

“Bloody fantastic how love can catch you off your heels, yeah?” Louis offers.

Zayn tries to nod with their foreheads pressed firmly together but he settles for a breathy exhale instead.

“You know you’re rubbish at this, right?” Louis asks. Zayn gives him a lazy shrug.  “Absolute shit.”

They laugh together and sway a little to nothing at all. It’s the way it’s always been, just them, unsure of how to be serious or where the laughter should exit.

“Go. Be a lovely wife,” Louis snorts and Zayn makes a face instantly.  “S’ppose I’ll bother myself with some mischief this evening.  I bet twenty quid with your cousin I could get Harry to finally nail Nialler – by having a threesome with them.”

Zayn shoots him a pale expression and Louis pulls back to bark out a laugh that rattles down the hall.

“You’re manic,” Zayn comments. “A complete menace.”

Louis grins and shakes out a shrug. “Figure they won’t be opposed to snogging with a little bloody assistance.  Plus it’s been awhile since I got off with a lad or two.  Might give me some clarity.”

“On what?” Zayn mumbles.

“On life. Love.  On the fucking dynamics between circumcised and uncircumcised.  Who bloody knows?” Louis remarks with another dry laugh.

“Niall is shitfaced,” Zayn says softly, leaning in.

Louis inclines towards him with that cheeky grin Zayn usually associates with Harry and too much alcohol.

“Even better. Harry seems like the type to get off on the idea of the other willing – “

“Unwilling,” Zayn reprimands but Louis doesn’t flinch.

“Are you quite finished?” Louis huffs. “It’s twenty pounds and Harry Styles sucking me off.  Quit judging me.”

“M’not,” Zayn pouts and he wonders, for a half-second, when he allowed himself to be reduced to a petulant child in the sandbox arguing over toys.

 _Only Louis_ fucking _Tomlinson_ , he thinks, regretfully.

Louis cocks his head back with an arrogant wink and a soft smile. “Let’s face it, Malik – you’re in love.  You’re _married_.  And none of us will ever be this happy so we make up for it with a drunken shag.”

“Sounds counterproductive,” Zayn murmurs, chewing on his lip.

Louis snorts, punching at Zayn’s shoulder. “Sounds like you’re just jealous I’m not inviting you and the new Mr. Malik along.”

Zayn scoffs, wrinkling his brow. Louis flips him off with a giggle and a hard peck to his cheek before he’s stumbling down the hall, throwing an arm around a bashful Niall and a cackling Harry.  He grins over his shoulder and Zayn thinks to warn the entire hotel staff of three shitfaced boys threatening to ruin the loo with their debauchery but –

Liam tangles their fingers together, sidling up to Zayn with full pink lips stretched wide.

“Ready?” he asks, unable to still the happiness in his voice.

Zayn huffs out a laugh, nodding. He watches Liam’s eyelashes flutter teasingly and he can’t stop himself from inching up to kiss away that stupid grin.

 

//

 

“This is pretty,” Liam takes a long breath, crowded up to Zayn’s spine in the doorway, “incredible.”

Zayn ducks his head a little, trying to hide his smile in the shadows of the dark hotel room. He feels blush high on his cheeks with their fingers still tangled behind Zayn’s back.  Liam’s free hand is pressing soothingly on the dip in his spine and they’re so close he can almost taste the wine still on Liam’s lips before he really looks around the room.

There are flower petals spread all over the carpet and along the bed linen. There’s a trail towards the window and a note on the bedside desk, written in leftover lipstick, in Louis’ horrible scribbling –

_‘loads of lube for loads of SEX and you’re welcome assholes xx’_

– and a series of candles dancing flames on the walls like small lanterns.

“This is for us?” Liam asks, sounding so soft and unsure behind him.

Zayn smiles at the goosebumps under Liam’s sleeve and the blush he can see blurred in his vision. He shrugs, casually, moving in and pulling Liam with him into the room.

“Sort of,” he starts as they toe off their shoes on the way.

“Tradition,” Liam giggles, curling an arm around Zayn’s waist.

Zayn nods while biting his lip to hold back the embarrassed noise in his throat at the lube under the pillow and all of the mints knocked on the floor.

Their mates are right arseholes – and sort of the best people in their lives.

“Thought we didn’t – “

“We _don’t_ ,” Zayn finishes for him, turning and watching Liam’s eyes flash this pretty gold in the dark.  He makes a face that Liam laughs at before, quietly, “But this is nice.”

“Nice,” Liam repeats, carefully pushing the sherwani from Zayn’s shoulders.

It’s like slow adrenaline in his blood and dopamine in his lungs. Their hands are leisurely, tugging away fabric and loosening material until they’re stripped off.  He palms the outline of Liam’s cock in these skintight briefs he’s too nervous to tug off and Liam’s confident hand soothes an ache down his spine when the backs of his knees brush the edge of the bed.

“Idiot,” Liam mocks when Zayn sucks in a startled sharp breath before he kisses him and it feels like _finally_.

A finally and a start and a quiet, soft _‘let’s take our time’_ that isn’t said but felt.

Zayn tries to disguise the loud thump of his heart when Liam bites gently along his bottom lip. The sting is soothed with a tongue and a hand trapped in Zayn’s thick hair.  He breathes shakily into a kiss, then another, then one more before Liam’s hands cup the back of his thighs and lift him.

He keeps his legs twisted around Liam’s hips and his mouth on Liam’s swollen lips when he carries Zayn all the way down to the bed.

“Hey,” Liam laughs into his mouth.

Zayn smiles back, arching his spine to rub his hard dick right along Liam’s.

“I could suck you off – “

“Fuck,” Zayn groans, grinding harder. “Don’t need it.”

“But it might loosen you up,” Liam offers, brushing the words down Zayn’s exposed throat.

Zayn blurts a laugh. “This is not my first time – “

“But it’s _our_ first time,” Liam whispers with his hands splayed on either side of Zayn’s head.  He’s pushed up over him, all of his muscles in his biceps straining in the light and his cock rocking slowly along Zayn’s hollows.  “Y’know, I mean, as like two lads – married and stuff.”

Zayn smirks, thrusting back.

“That sounded weird,” Liam snickers, swooping down to kiss along Zayn’s jaw.

“Sounds perfect,” Zayn smiles, shuddering when Liam grabs a handful of hair and tugs so that Zayn’s spine bends.

“So you just want me to fuck you,” Liam says roughly into his ear, pressing Zayn down into the mattress with his hips. “Want me to just shove my dick in you, babe?  Let you feel how bad I’ve been wanting you for a week now.  Fill you up?”

Zayn gasps, nodding, anchoring his legs around Liam’s waist again.

“Let you know how much I _want_ you,” Liam adds, darker with a hand twisted between them to rub Zayn off through his white pants.  “Take you raw, babe?  So you can feel me afterwards?  S’that it?”

It’s an embarrassingly soft moan that escapes his lips rather than the growl he intends but he doesn’t care.

He’s hard and Liam’s tracing the shape of his cock with his thumb and there’s too much fabric between them.

“Well, I don’t,” Liam says with this serious tone, edging closer with a wrinkled brow.

Zayn bites hard on his lip, needs to taste acidic blood rather than watching the way Liam stares at him. He squirms under him and Liam’s muscles tense when he pins Zayn’s wrist to the bed.

Something cautious and warm spreads over Liam’s face when he’s closer, brushing his nose against Zayn’s. He drags his hips across Zayn’s in this maddeningly slow way that threatens to destroy Zayn.

The fucking bastard and his stupid smile.

“I want it slow,” Liam mumbles against Zayn’s lips, pressing his thumb to the henna over Zayn’s wrist. “I want you to beg.  I want to feel you so fucking tight around my cock that I don’t even move.  I’ll just let you squeeze the come out of me, babe.  And I’ll snog you dumbly afterwards.”

Zayn groan catches in his throat at that. He doesn’t move until Liam relaxes above him and all of those damn things he thought about _Liam Payne_ were wrong –

He’s a fucking _animal_.  Timid in the light and unsuspecting but a hunter in the dark.  A fucking beast.

Zayn drags his tongue over his lip in an absent form that has Liam groaning and chasing the noise into Zayn’s mouth. They kiss and fight with their hands but Zayn gives in when Liam slips his tongue inside.  He complies, spreading his legs, and Liam coos against his teeth.

“Fine,” Zayn mumbles, grinning. “But I want it fast and dirty after a shower.  Up against the wall, I think.  Pulling my hair – “

“Oh Zayn,” Liam laughs, vibrating the sound with another kiss. He wraps long, dark locks between his fingers for a gentle yank.  “I can still do that.”

Zayn whimpers and he’s too dizzy to remember the trembles that occur between the kisses and grinding.

“Lift up,” Liam says huskily, tapping Zayn’s hip with his thumb.

He’s so distracted – by the lips on his neck, the strong thighs knocking his knees apart, the stubble burning his skin – that he doesn’t realize Liam’s slipped out of his pants before he’s dragging Zayn’s down too. There’s wheezing breaths in his chest while Liam bites along his neck but he’s too delighted by their bare cocks brushing to notice Liam thumbing open the lube.

The sheets are wet from their impatience. He’s twisting a loose fits around Liam’s cock while thick, calloused fingers open him up.  His heartbeat can’t catch up with all of his sharp breaths but Liam’s so _good_ at this.

He’s wonderful at making Zayn wait and sliding in knuckle-deep and fucking twisting _right there don’t stop holy shit_ until Zayn bites his lip raw.

“Get in me,” he coughs out because it sounds stupid but he’s too far gone to bloody care.

“Slow,” Liam repeats and Zayn hates him.

He’s married the absolute _worst person_ in all of England.

Liam swoops down to suck him wet before he adds a third finger. He mouths along the head until it’s spit-shiny and hollows his cheeks when Zayn restrains a groan.  He works it out of Zayn’s lungs with a sloppy, slick technique that leaves saliva slipping down his chin and Zayn’s cock squeezing out thick drops of precome.  He shoves his fingers deep, brushing his prostate, and Zayn’s eyes roll back instantly.

He rocks shallowly into Liam’s mouth with his hips off the bed, Liam’s spare hand on the small of his back while he perfects his deepthroat – _the fucking asshole_ – technique on Zayn.

Liam has a proud grin and slick lips when he pulls off, easing his fingers out gently. Zayn whines and clenches for _something_ inside of him while Liam lubes himself up.

“So fucking slow, babe,” Liam teases, dragging the head of his cock across Zayn’s pulsing hole, “I want you to beg.”

Zayn shakes his head, biting his lip. He squeezes his eyes shut because that blissful look in Liam’s eyes is threatening.  He collapses on the sheets with Liam hovering above him, sweat pooled around his collarbones and this ache all along his bones.

“C’mon Zayn,” Liam whispers.

The tip of his cock presses against the rim, barely slips in, and Zayn wants so much more than he –

“Liam,” he gasps, out of breath. “No, no, no.”

“You can say it.”

“Liam,” he groans instead like it’s enough but Liam pulls his cock back, dragging it along the back of Zayn’s thigh until he’s helpless and –

It’s tight in his throat, cutting off oxygen but not words. “Please.  Fuck me, _please_.  Slow and, come on mate, just – “

Liam’s mouth is right along the stained lips at the center of his chest when he nudges the head inside. _Finally_.  He wants to call it euphoric but that sounds so fucking dumb yet he can’t unsettle the blush crawling all over his skin when Liam gives him a look like he feels it too.

So they stretch until their fingers twine above Zayn’s head, so close to the headboard, and Liam rocks slowly all the way into him.

Zayn hums quietly, pressing his shoulders down to lift his hips up and almost off Liam’s cock. Liam groans, whimpers, buries a noise in Zayn’s neck before thrusting lazily right back into him.

“Oh Li,” Zayn heaves, twisting to meet those happy eyes. He grins back.  He stretches to kiss Liam and tastes himself over Liam’s tongue.  It’s a sharp, bitter flavor from the precome but it’s also musky and arousing.

Liam gives a rough thrust that pins Zayn’s hips back to the bed and Zayn gets it.

Liam _wants_ control.

He wants to set the pace and distract Zayn with kisses so he doesn’t recognize how slow this really is moving.

And finally – he submits and drags his mouth over Liam’s when Liam thrusts in and out in a rhythm he should dedicate to all of his goofy dancing in the middle of crowds.

He wraps his legs loosely around Liam, flexes his spine in the way he knows Liam likes, and brushes a laugh into Liam’s hair when Liam whimpers, “Christ, you just squeeze around me like – “

The rest is broken off in syllables Zayn doesn’t understand. He doesn’t think he cares much about it anyway.

The sheets feel hot underneath him, slick with sweat and lube. He watches the flames on the walls – lightning fireflies losing shape every few flickers – and gasps when Liam buries himself deep.

“Right there?” Liam asks, shifting.

Zayn shakes his head, giggling. “C’mon babe, quit teasing.”

“Here?”

“Deeper,” Zayn groans, hiking his leg higher until his knee his under Liam’s arm and his calf his along Liam’s rib and –

Liam licks his lips arrogantly and knocks an appreciative groan out of Zayn’s lungs when he fucks right onto his prostate.

“How about – “

“Yes,” Zayn replies immediately, making these pitchy noises he hates. But he can’t stop them.  “Yes, Liam, you asshole, right _there_.”

Liam is the loud one. The out of control one when Zayn slides in him or rocks down on his cock or swallows him deep in the shower.  He’s the one who spasms and loses his vocabulary and Zayn swears all of the neighbors absolutely hate them anytime after six o’clock when Liam is horny and Zayn is tenting in his joggers.

But he’s ruthless with his lips on Zayn’s neck and his cock sliding incredibly gentle inside of him.

Zayn thinks the Oxford definition of _lovesick_ should come with photographic evidence of the way Liam fucks Zayn when he really thinks about it.

Liam’s fingers curl in his hair when he’s too desperate to pay attention. They tug gently and Zayn’s mouth parts before Liam sneak a tongue in.  He laughs like he’s wasted and Liam smiles into another slow kiss.

“Am I doing good?” Liam wonders against his mouth.

“Bloody fantastic,” Zayn chokes out, rolling his hips to meet Liam’s thrusts.

“You sure?”

Zayn loves this side of Liam – the vulnerable one. The caring one that wants to soothe Zayn through all of this.  The one that wants to please Zayn more than he wants to get off.  The one that will fuck Zayn through two orgasms before he even thinks of rubbing off across Zayn’s stomach.

This Liam who doesn’t know if he’s any good or even deserving and it all sounds so _pathetic_ in his head but he’s willing to look stupid if it means he can watch this unfold.

Liam’s hips smack against his arse and Zayn knows there will be bruises. Bruises and oxygen-less kisses when this is over.  He’s anticipating it with his fingers wrinkling the sheets.

“Can you just, like – “

Zayn knows what Liam wants. He clenches around him when he’s midway, reveling at the way Liam whines.  They don’t build any momentum like he wants – like he _needs_ – but he can feel his cock heavy against his stomach, slicking it, the head throbbing an angry burgundy from all of the pressure.

Liam bares his hips down roughly but still incredibly languid. He mouths along Zayn’s neck to hold back all of his moans and Zayn wants more.

He bends his spine once more to give Liam more room and they wriggle together across the sheets until Zayn can’t breathe.

“Just so fucking good,” Liam mumbles into his tendons. “Can you feel me?  I’m so close.”

Zayn grunts, lets out a proper whimper while his skin goes intensely hot.

“Just wanna come so deep,” Liam says on a hitched breath and Zayn breathes through his nose rather than his mouth with his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks.

He thinks about reaching between them to wank himself but Liam’s _right there_ – on his prostate, dragging Zayn’s leg over his shoulder, pressing so close – with a fumbling hand around his cock.  He squeezes around the base while dragging his cock back and Zayn _begs_.

“Liam,” he yelps.

And Liam’s right there again, shoved deep, thumbing under the head until Zayn trembles from the inside all the way out. He comes in messy streaks, gasping.  He leaves Liam’s hand wet and their chests soaked and keeps coming when Liam slows down.

“C’mon,” he encourages though he’s too lazy and strung out. “Fuck me properly.”

Liam does, without hesitance and with Zayn’s cock still softening between his fingers. He ruts his hips, pounds so far into Zayn that he can’t feel the distance between them anymore.  He leaves idle kisses across Liam’s swollen lips with the springs of the mattress bouncing back against his spine until –

Liam tightens up all around him, getting loud like Zayn loves, and licks out a soft smile when he finally starts to come inside of Zayn. His cock gives a jerk, halfway through a thrust, and Zayn curls his legs around Liam’s waist to push him all the way in while they try to synchronize their breaths all through Liam’s orgasm.

They bury their sweaty bodies in the sheets, smearing come and lube to the cotton, and they’re both too exhausted to do more than kiss gently in the dark.

He thinks about a shower or a warm washcloth or _anything_ but he doesn’t want this feeling to waver so he stays still.

Zayn climbs under one of Liam’s arms and waits until the spare one curls around him before dragging dry lips over Liam’s birthmark.

“Pretty nice,” Liam exhales.

Zayn agrees silently, shutting his eyes.

He thinks _nice_ is the new definition they can live by because everything else seems too complicated and, now, they’re both too simple for that.

 

//

 

The next morning, Zayn wakes to the heat on low, snow edging the windows, and a cold side of the bed where Liam was.

He smothers a disappointed groan into the pillow next to him but blinks from beneath the duvet find Liam sitting on the edge on the way watching him with a fond smile.

“Morning,” Liam says with a sleep-heavy voice, his hair wrecked, and a cardboard cup of coffee between his hands.

Zayn smirks with heavy eyes. He kicks a bare foot from under the duvet to wiggle his toes against Liam’s hip.

“Hey,” he croaks, blinking away the last of sleep. “What are you doing?”

Liam grins, sighing a breath to blow away the smoke from his coffee. He shrugs lazily and Zayn bites the edge of his tongue to hold back _‘fuck I_ love _you’_ from escaping.

“Woke up early. The coffee is shit at this hotel so I – “

“Got a cup of Starbucks?” Zayn asks, frowning.

“ – got out of bed and ran to this neat little coffee shop on the corner,” Liam snorts. His hot fingers stroke over Zayn’s ankle and it’s so soothing that Zayn almost crawls back into his fleeting sleep.  “You know better.”

Zayn chokes off a laugh because he does.

He _knows_ Liam and this feeling and a scene similar to this one – back in their loft, in London, with the same warm light stinging his eyes.

“We got married yesterday,” Liam mentions when they slip out of their shy stares. “It’s actually quite frightening.”

Zayn makes a discontented noise and scowls at Liam.

Liam laughs into his coffee. “Oh shut it,” he smirks.  “S’not meant to be bad.  It’s just that – you’re sort of stuck with me.  That’s horrible.  I’m a Malik – “

“Payne-Malik,” Zayn groans but he’s not good at hiding his abashed smile from Liam.

“ – and this is not how you pictured things, alright? Being stuck with a mate like me,” Liam groans.

Zayn sighs into his pillow. He pushes up with his forearms and shoves all of his thick hair out of his face.

“C’mere you donut.”

Liam shuffles and crawls over the bed until he’s slouching against the headboard. Zayn wrinkles his nose before scooting closer until their hips are wedged together and Liam’s free arm drapes around his shoulders.

He’s quiet, listening to Liam breathe, while Liam scoops a few locks of his hair behind his ear.

“You’re wrong,” he says softly into the crook of Liam’s neck. “It’s not what I expected but I’ve never been good at this.”

Liam chuckles into his hair, whispers _‘you’re shit at this’_ and Zayn doesn’t disagree.

He lets Liam feed him coffee and it’s not until a few minutes later that he realizes he doesn’t wince or flinch or even tremble at the taste of it. He just swallows and pushes up to kiss Liam anxiously and this is how it is –

He’s in love.

He likes the taste of Liam’s coffee and the way he kisses in the morning and this feeling so far in his bones, he thinks it’s simply DNA rather than an emotion he’s learned to live with.

“So you’re okay?”

Zayn watches the sunlight spill all over their hotel room. It catches, at the right angle, on his grandfather’s ring nestled around Liam’s finger.  It’s so symbolic of all of the things he swore he wouldn’t associate himself with but here it is –

“I’m okay,” Zayn laughs, kissing Liam again. “I’m so good, Leeyum.”

In that moment, with Liam’s coffee on his tongue and Liam’s lips pressed to his mouth and their fingers intertwined so they can admire their wedding rings, Zayn realizes he’s not shit at one thing –

Being _in love_ with Liam.

And he thinks their _‘finally’_ starts a little something like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read, give me kudos, comments, constructive criticism, and for just being sweet enough to support a _'writer_.
> 
> If this was not your cup of tea, I apologize. I just needed something light and fluffy to write after my last fic.
> 
> Reach out to me on Tumblr xx


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